Anxiety
The countless tragic ends that wait,
in dark recesses of mind,
thought soon to come upon you,
already haunt your visage with
furrowed lines of worry,
and color your anticipation with
bleak hues of hopelessness.
Each passing moment thrusts you
closer to the brink of a precipice,
and time serves the inevitable,
bearing you into the arms of waiting
calamity.
And yet a score of fates imagined,
nightmare images of doom,
have not destroyed by scenes of terror,
the one who created them.
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STOPI really love the language of this poem. There was also a bit of a twist at the end with a beam of hope which contrasted with the rest of the poem. Good work.
Thanks! I appreciate you'r taking the time to comment.
dark! with just a ray of potential light ;)
That's the feeling I was going for. Thanks for replying!