oh but there is still poetry in that dust. and that is so much more than nothing...
this is an ever evoking poem. I can relate to these moments of banality, inertia, and boredom. You've capture the tragedy of these moments. But i pray that they are seldom.
however, although we rather not indulge in it, boredom nonetheless, i think, is the most profound expression of human existence. It is the predecessorof imaginative escapism, nostalgia, philosophy, and alas, poetry- as your poem has so nicely demonstrates.
I find your interpretation very interesting, because upon rereading it, it fits perfectly. But the inspiration wasn't so much my silence, but the silence of others; of no one making use of my library. The nothing isn't my nothing, but their nothing.
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this is an ever evoking poem. I can relate to these moments of banality, inertia, and boredom. You've capture the tragedy of these moments. But i pray that they are seldom.
however, although we rather not indulge in it, boredom nonetheless, i think, is the most profound expression of human existence. It is the predecessorof imaginative escapism, nostalgia, philosophy, and alas, poetry- as your poem has so nicely demonstrates.
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