Out of necessity,
The powerful word grew,
Inventing itself like an unchanging
mundane god, out of a formless void,
both a verb and noun,
A relevant Force to be reckoned with.
It pierced and drilled its way into
Our dull vernacular,
Drilling and hollowing
With the unchanging dullness
Of a tired metronome,
A melancholy misery
Whose origin is uncertain,
Because no one cared
Enough to find out,
Or record its birth.
Its existence demanded
By our desperate need
To describe somehow
The intense soul-piercing pain,
the awful boring sensation
Of this unbearable feeling
We have when we are left alone
With nothing to occupy our hands and
our minds,
A penetrating horror we flee
with such religious fervor,
Even sinking so low as to
Play Farmville or Angry Birds
For two or three tedious hours,
Or mindlessly watch grown men
Fall over and over again on YouTube or Fox News.
But those mindless things are
So much better than being stuck
With no distractions as we desperately
Try not to listen or feel or think
The thoughts
fears
questions
And griefs
that fill our
Restless minds.