I had written a large book of poetry that of which I have narrowed down to 175 poems.
I, sit through boredom
as though fog has me
Some would be doodles
of a picture I could barely see
Others, yapping away
as with their friends
Some intent on leaving,
another activity which extends
Few, as attentive,
as mother and baby
Reaching their goals
as of most humanity
Curious to know
has the path paid off
Might they be drinking
from the paradise trough
The dreamers, focus
still to be aloft
Anything is possible
while your own futures may cross