Boredom

A dozen sleepless nights, a hundred drifting thoughts;
A long and perilous fight, an obstacle that wasn't sought.
A moment without time, a forecast without season;
A song without rhyme, an action without reason.

It comes and goes, often without a sound;
It dims and glows, by which you are bound.
It has rules, and it has prizes;
Then it makes fools, of all shapes and sizes.

Sometimes in the background, sometimes the front;
Your mind it will tie down, your creativity it will shunt.
So many patterns to find, so many riddles;
Toward its peak you grind, but get stuck in the middle.

Simple is its scheme, its presentation flagrant;
But repetition becomes its theme, apathy its agent.
And despite your determination, you feel your confusion grow;
It proves too strong a trepidation, flaunting what you used to know.

It unravels with haste.
It hides its form.
It abandons its meter;
And your certainty's torn.

How did you get this far?
Where was this place?
Such a miniscule trail to follow;
At such an agonizing pace.

Like a blind man you stumble;
Searching for a scrap.
Even your thoughts you fumble;
Trying to escape the trap.

Once hope begins to dwindle, and desperation sets in;
A light comes to spindle, and all over it begins.