Uneventful
By Odin Roark

I’m known as uneventful.

Other days face less criticism,
Often bathing in expectation’s limelight,
But seldom satisfied on delivery,
Each day’s unpredictability being what it is.

Which brings me to my friends,
Or maybe “acquaintances” sounds more PC.
There’s Tiring,
Depressing,
Sad,
Monotonous,
Flat,
Inactive (actually my half brother),
Awesome,
Lackluster,
Stressful,
Boring,
Blah,
And Funktastic. (Really?)

For many of us,
Embracing any one of these deluders
Is just plain misguided.
Kind of like needing to cling to attachments
In order to blame or claim identity.
Least that’s what my buddy Nobody says.
He subscribes to some ancient Eastern thought
Suggesting we’re all one,
That mating ourselves to labels is but blissful suicide,
And that to want of nothing
Is to be void of all that high/low nonsense.

Yeah,
I can appreciate that,
As I’ve managed to stay balanced,
While watching the endless parade of daily moods betray,
Teeter or fall, since, oh, I don’t know, forever?

Time for a break.
All this thinking is tiring.
“Hey Nobody,
You up for another game of nothing?”