The empty feeling,
Dark abyss,
a pressure kept from escape,
The wind howls… thunder rolls… *
A tedious continuation
strewn with unrest,
"a distasteful emptiness within thyself"
a bitter concern inside, one amount too many
so concern overflows and surrounds
consuming like that of a flood
unto the motley of ideas
missing thoughts, staleness, endlessness
lost aspirations,
And the feeling pursues.
Sense of immovability.
The sudden but much needed
arrival of a task originally not thought of
moments prior,
revival of frozen body and muddled mind-
Empty and immutable, task and chore,
dead phone, dry mouth, mind void
of idea-begin a task to occupy,
memory of frozen concept and dulled perception and lack of objective,
All to compile and bring to fruition.
The mind gathering and tossing about
fragments, developing patience, learning to
cope
And the monotony of thoughts as if never ending
within the confines
boredom-seize thine decadent convictions
Zero resurgence.
*allusion to "The Song of The Stormy Petrel" by Maxim Gorky
My attempt at a poem depicting how I feel when I'm bored. For people who don't know or can't tell, this poem (Getting Tiresome) is a mimic of the poem "Getting in the Wood" by Gary Snyder. So, if you are going to accuse me of stealing other's work... well I don't know what to tell you, I can't stop you so I might as well not bother.