A Guitar

he was bored, curls falling over
his forehead, open books, a pen
disconnected from the pen cap
off to the side, he gazes out the window
at the beach, the waves, the blue sky,
how come boredom in nirvana,
how come when there’s no soul,
no one’s home, an emptiness
roils inside him until he picks up
the guitar and the chords gradually
envelop him and his mind stops
crashing against the walls of boredom,
the hours pass by until darkness is
all round him and he falls into the
deep dreamless sleep of contentment.

photo courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/rileyroxx/184705638/