The Most Sublime

A poet said: "The highest feeling
That you can have in life
(A gentle beast, a crimson yawn)
Is surely boredom, the sublime"

I know you well, intellectual plague
You, unknown to gangrenous minds
I dreamed of being a nightingale
To elude you through the pines

Like a random shout
You erupt from the fluorescent dark
Of my denial
And suddenly
You wake me up

O summer boredom, you've got the beauty
Of useless thoughts, of sleepless nights
Please forgive me if I didn't reply
To the smile that burned behind your crying

I have seen weird signs
Engraved in a cold light
Of Marian eyes
At the mercy of boredom
Of all things
The most sublime



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