Boredom Poem by Daffodil Decarie

It’s often hard–
assuming, initiating
notions, abstractions, conclusions.

In a world such as our own
imaging imagery, ordinary
as much as extraordinary is boring.

Conundrum we have replacations
buttering verities, grudging riddles–
conformity becomes a toothache
that last for generations.

Portrait of truth is not enough–
without seditious gold framing life is a mask.
Haven’t we always wonder why?

Ladies, (gentle) and not so, men–
may I reckon, that the commodity of,
our future, bask upon our mystic intuition.