It’s often hard–
assuming, initiating
notions, abstractions, conclusions.
In a world such as our own
imaging imagery, ordinary
as much as extraordinary is boring.
Conundrum we have replacations
buttering verities, grudging riddles–
conformity becomes a toothache
that last for generations.
Portrait of truth is not enough–
without seditious gold framing life is a mask.
Haven’t we always wonder why?
Ladies, (gentle) and not so, men–
may I reckon, that the commodity of,
our future, bask upon our mystic intuition.
Daffodil Decarie
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/boredom-13/
