Bored Poet Poem by Edward Veilleux

A bored poet, sits wondering alone.
And thinks deeply, ever so deeply,
About all the people he has known.
His mind is flooded 'til it is full.
Thinking of the kindness he has shown,
And equally of the time he has wasted,
Putting in work just to get cut to the bone.

But for every waste of time, there is a triumph,
A good memory that he is proud to call his own.
All of the walks home, drunk with the bros,
Or late night conversations with girls on the phone.
Yes, his every regret is met with a shrug,
All the missed opportunities and money blown.
He thinks of his friends, and those who are there.
Oh! What a feeling to know he's never alone.