Once upon a time in a boring class, I penned down the poem below.



ON THE VERGE OF ENNUI


On this memorable day in March,
the classroom was filled but only to half,
awaiting the day's academic to drive the morning chill.
Arrive he did, adorned in an over-sized shirt and tie.
His voice punctuated the silence he had caused,
as hungry vessels stared obliviously at the board.
He solved equations without writing, only his word.
By the time he said he was done,
half the half that came had gone.
Time was gone way more than a watch could tell.
All bolted for the wall a calendar would suffice.
The only consolation is now they can go eat rice.
I'm on the verge of ennui,
that's why I'm writing this.