Frozen eminence as staring
Not a fret or single bearing
As I whisper while moored
Boy oh boy am I bored?
Rainbow colour entices me
Though ideas quickly flee
While again I stand in chill
Amid boredom with a quill
Jabbing at it, for it to pierce
The mood that can be fierce
Dusting boredom at my will
Clearing paths for novel frill
Nah fool, never I am bored
Copious things vastly cord
In my life so full of passion
I dress boredom into fashion
The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov
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