Boredom

this boredom
is a waiting room -
a pause
within
a spinning pause;

sometimes,
a fish tank
with roving eyes,
prying open
a masked existence;

sometimes,
a magazine picked up
from a corner rack,
filling
an unmistakable hollow
with a fleeting delight
of forgotten selves;

sometimes,
muted piped music
pulsing through
a sleepy heart
ruminating on the speed
of turning wheels;

often,
a necessary sabbatical,
nudging a self
to get back
in conversation
with an ordinary life
that's always alive.

Conversations with Yourself

how often do you really
speak to yourself
there is no one out there
and yet
soak it all in
turn your eyes without
so you can
turn your eyes within
what you want to change outside
is
what you don't want to change within.

P.S. - Now read the poem backwards...line by line

If I could speak a poem....

and you took me to a place
I didn't want to go to;
you found me a song
I so wanted to sing
but didn't know how....

I let you peek
into my little world
not to see what I see,
but simply to feel
what it feels like to be me....

and to know
that there is someone
who made space
for a little flower
to kiss a distant sunbeam
that she was hiding from,
only so she could be touched by both.....