Rhymes on the Theme of Ennui

“Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” - inscription on Keats’ tombstone

The bland accoutrements of life
line up on the windowsill.
The world’s a charmless wife,
or indiscreet husband, a pill.

This is what I’ve learned, the philosophic
say, both bored and hopelessly attached
to that which animates their flesh, a tonic
borne, but bitter and never quite wanted.

We stuff and pack but never fill
our lives with art, religion, sex, a thrill
to soak the hard outlines in light,
a flashbulb blinding us to night.

Life is both too much and not enough.
About its throat we place a frail ruff.