On Boredom

It is not much to be envied. this business of ignoring now. What misplaced concept of nobility could mortify a self and thus attain largesse, of sacrifice? --all time assigned to glean leftover thought is wasted as a lost forever. Here is the Olympic yielded moment! --and golden posted rainbows fade before it. Alas, the moment makes for choices, while a wish may have its non-reality, a pitiable portion of a soul behind a darkened mirror scraping bits of self that dried in winds from yesterday. And so to build a fortress for a dream boldly gazing forth in periscopic purpose now secure, for pondering is safely tucked away outside among the sleeping lions, and inspiration far beyond the pale. No...no need for dreaming, only stroking... Even restlessness is tired. So very...tired. ~