• The boredom screams at me,
    where the parchment stops,
    I write you this poetry.

    Homework is a bore,
    It bores into me like a drill,
    A spear of pure boredom,

    What happens, if there was no boredom?
    Complete and utter joy?
    Or no time on our hands?

    Boredom is special you see,
    It's melody seems a big part of each and everyone's lives,
    You look back at those times in your life,
    Should you have done something and not wait around?
    And be bored.
    To do something worth remembering,

    Magical, boredom is,
    You've been possessed.
    Possessed by a spell,
    it traps you within it's fingertips,
    Those fingertips which stoop, you in between them,

    The thing is, people pose a threat to boredom.
    Oh they do,
    And what a crime it is,
    Who needs 'em?

    Bad mood? No, simply a lack of activity.
    Feeling of unrest.
    Is it scientific?
    Nah, common sense!
    The sense that matters,
    Common, Deranged and misconceived.
    Boredom beckons.