Ennui: The Quiet Monster
Among the yipping, yowling beasts,
The howling sins that never cease,
There skulks an umbrageous, quiet fiend,
A darker thread in vice’s seam.
No growling fangs, no blazing eyes,
No violent rage to pierce the skies.
Instead, he sits in languid air,
His heavy gaze a hollow stare.
His name is Ennui, a vile disguise,
With wish-wash, half-lidded eyes.
He vapes his pipe, skunky death,
And with each yawn, he steals our breath.
A butcher’s heart beats in his chest,
Yet slothful hands can’t join the rest.
No need for swords, for blood, for strife—
He drains the marrow out of life.
You know him, to often, lurking near,
That quiet voice that denies fear.
The creeping ache of nothing’s weight,
The smothered hope, the stalled-out fate.
Refined, this monster wears a mask,
A brother to us all, unasked.
He haunts the soul, the dream, the plan—
Ennui, the apathy of man.
WoPoLi 
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