Being bored,
meaning you either aren't doing anything,
have to wait
or did your task for too long.

I am waiting,
but aren't we all in life?
One person may be waiting for the bus,
the other for a cure.
Next one may wait for their first kiss,
first love and last?

Others wait their entire life for happiness
and die in regret.
Even though they have happiness right introns of their eyes,
they are blind.
Why you may ask?

They wait for bigger and bigger opportunities
and they never come.
They fight, they loose, they fail
Fail to see what is really important and right infant of them.

That they have food to eat, healthy children.
The sun blesses every morning each person
And what do they do? They ignore

We are all waiting in life for something,
but make that something worthwhile.

Let them be, walk around, be noisy
I lie here on the couch
People talk about school & life
My eyes are heavy, my body is aching
I try to relax in the stressful mind

You lie next to me
An arm around my weak body
My safe place, covered up safely
Everyone is going on, so is time
We stand still & I feel loved for a momentum
In your arms

You motivate me, let me see things from a different perspective, when I am too down to see anything but darkness.

Get yourself a chronic illness.
You will get frustrated with the pain,
And you will start to be aggressive towards the people you most love.
They don't understand & that's okay, because you don't wish this on nobody.
But you hope that they will understand you.
You fight with them until the picture of them fades in the distance.

Then you are alone on the journey fighting your own body . . .

The first thinkers were poets
Naming Mother Earth
Beginning symbolic thinking
Of nature, death and birth

Though themes are often repeated
Love, Beauty and God
Poetry in the guise of Religion
A prophet or a fraud

The poet resurrects the Primitive
Through allegory and similes
Disarming the unknown like explorers
Sublime Prophets and Visionaries

They must lay bare those treasured images
That must be expressed
Unraveling and revealing the sounds
At each soul’s behest

Encompassing the entire Cosmos
So lyrical the beat
The poet’s excitement flows outward
Laid at the Reader’s feet

So original, individual
She won’t examine or explain
Letting go the festering feelings
Disturbances in her brain

He exposes his dark, wounded psyche
Just to release and express
Such capacity to see and compare
Hyperbole at its best

I love, I hate, I suffer
A special dance in rhythm and rhyme
The poet as a buffer
Lessening the pain and sting of time

Laden with symbol and feelings
She gives you sweet relief
From something urgent, revealing
Confusion to belief

Through a cinematic kind of seeing
The poet purges to transform
By leaping through Alice’s looking glass
She never was one to conform

Quite intolerant of convention
Just like The Mad Hatter
His passions immune to all logic
In syncopated patter

Jamming up the poet’s mind
Struggling for expression
Seeking order out of chaos
An infantile regression

Cleaving to his imaginary world
The poet breaks out into words
Creating sound paintings to be unfurled
So his own agony is blurred

She succumbs to storms of passion
With instinctive techniques
Rhymes and rhythm still in fashion
Out of hand flows mystique

The poet mines from his unconscious
The Reader is not blind
For every single line and symbol
Means something to the mind

Causing an inner liberation
Enlightenment or flight
It is a matter of life and death
When darkness turns to light.