In the quiet corners of a restless mind,
Where time drips like a slow, unending stream,
Boredom paints the shadows undefined,
A canvas stretched across a silent dream.

The ticking clock, a melody of stillness,
Each second echoes through a vacant room,
Yet in this pause, a whisper of resilience,
A seed of thought begins to softly bloom.

Eyes wander toward the window’s light,
Tracing patterns on the glassy pane,
In boredom’s grip, a gentle fight,
Where creativity begins to reign.

Thus, boredom, with its subtle art,
Transforms the dull into the sublime,
Awakens visions in the heart,
And dances with the sands of time.