Boredom is a fickle thing.
All depends on what you bring
to the table on that day.
Maybe one time what you love
the next will fall from above
without one moment's delay.
It's kind of like you and me,
changing your mind, hopefully
avoiding a big melee
among the thoughts in our heads,
while we are in our beds
trying to sleep comfortably.
But we can't sleep this time around.
These thoughts continue to pound
like they're too tight a beret.
Sorry, I go on tangents.
Keeps boredom from being rampant.
I try to keep it at bay,
but as I said, that boredom
rules over all in its kingdom,
picking what to stow away.
Many things are now boring.
You might too someday, darling.
It's fickle as I have said.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem