In the quiet of the afternoon’s embrace,
Time stretches thin, a languid trace,
Shadows dance in a listless ballet,
As boredom wraps the world in gray.

The clock ticks slow, a torturous beat,
Each second drags, reluctant, discreet,
The mind, adrift, in a sea of naught,
Seeking escape, but finding it not.

Dreams intertwine with the mundane,
Creating worlds both wild and plain,
Yet still, the heart yearns for more,
For adventure, for a distant shore.

So here we sit, in stillness bound,
Waiting for life to come around,
For in this pause, a truth we see,
Boredom’s grip will set us free.