Boredom

The sound of a clock in a quiet room,
weaving time on boredom's loom.
Deathwatch tick to a metronome beat,
Hours drag by on leaden feet.
The grate of a key in a wooden door,
keyhole sun on a polished floor,
dustmotes dance in the molten rays,
Seconds, minutes, hours, days.
The snap of a log in an evening fire,
echoes the blaze of sunset's pyre.
and over the world, the shadows lay
as time burns down to another day.