In the quiet moments of endless time,
Where shadows stretch and thoughts unwind,
The ticking clock becomes a chime,
Echoing the solitude we find.

The walls whisper tales of yesteryears,
With silent sighs and unseen tears,
As boredom weaves its subtle fears,
In the stillness where no one appears.

A dance of dust in sunlit streams,
Paints patterns of forgotten dreams,
While the mind drifts on gentle seams,
In the land where nothing is as it seems.

Yet within this space, a seed is sown,
In the fertile ground of the unknown,
Where creativity has quietly grown,
Turning boredom into a world of its own.