Poem--Boredo(o)m

In the midst of another vacuum:

Where colors have faded
Into drab, senseless shades
Or into meaningless, grainy pictures
That trail each other in disorder;

Where music has retreated
Into the harsh hiss of background
Or faded into an indiscernible percussion
That drones in wearing monotony;

Where thoughts seem lost in patterns
Sans freshness and allure
Or drained by the palling bleakness
Of Predictability;

Where every moment seems
An incessant, tedious repetition
Of the moment that has been,
For an eternity:

Trapped—
In mediocrity.