Time to Fill
Jan 14 2024
We were often bored.
Nothing to do, we whined
in the doldrums of summer
when school was out.
When we were banished out-of-doors
to give a hot-and-bothered mother
a modicum of peace.
The ultimate sin, boredom.
As if casually dismissing
the precious gift of life;
ignoring
how brief our time is here.
A failure
of the imagination.
And perhaps
we've become too jaded
by novelty
distraction
sensation
to be content
alone with our thoughts.
Yet here I sit
with nothing to do
and time to fill,
only to find myself
writing this.
Boredom, as catalyst.
Like Newton under the apple tree.
Darwin
on his long solitary walks.
Einstein, in his Swiss patent office
idling the hours away,
daydreaming
of clocks and trains.
Of course, I would hardly compare myself
to luminaries like these.
But just as a mind
should never go to waste,
so it is with time;
even if a middling poem
is all that comes of it.
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