In the silence of the ticking clock,
Moments stretch like endless roads,
Shadows dance upon the walls,
As boredom weaves its quiet codes.

The hours drift like autumn leaves,
Falling gently to the ground,
In the stillness, thoughts take flight,
Seeking meaning yet unfound.

A yawn escapes, a sigh ensues,
The mind wanders to distant shores,
In the realm of mundane days,
Boredom knocks on every door.

Yet in this void, a spark may rise,
Creativity’s gentle flame,
From the depths of listless nights,
New dreams are born, untamed.