Beth Grant

Insanity

Time moves slowly to us that wait
in feverish anticipation,
turning our minds into
contemplation.

Why does this change
occur with such deceptively
coniving effects
that I dream quietly
of death?

If time is our friend,
why does it not bend
and giveme a piece
of hidden tranquility?

Instead hope will fade,
with time in shade,
and anxiety becomes
my enemy withing.

Worry and fret anchor
my mind once again.
This cycle of contemplation
becomes my time, never end.

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Add this poem to MyPoemList

Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings
rate this poem

Comments about Insanity by Beth Grant

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?