Sad Boredom

I don't quite understand the way I feel,

am I saddened or deeply bored?

I look into myself and I see strange images,

they determine my wacky imagination,

they let me visualize the endless travelings of my mind.

The songs in my head begin with a melancholic sound,

and you can feel what's coming:

a group of killers without compassion,

nights of sleepless people,

the forests are filled with dreams,

the smoke rises and my heart remains untouched.

I'm running through a field of dreams,

I'm getting high to the purpose of ending boredom,

I think to many of my selves and realize the end:

reality is the end,

the end of real happiness,

the end of art,

the end of the world as the ancients knew it.

And as I know it,

as I understand it's copulation with freedom;

the world has to be free,

the people are unaware of it's wonders,

they have to know.

But I repeat to myself:

am I saddened or deeply bored?

My eyes will tell,

and someone will understand.

Ricardo Rodrigues