How many times
have I covered a
small patch of
grass, naked,
looking up at the
stars, whose names I
have only guessed at?
Never, I’m insane.
How many times
have I wished I
was born to different
parents, and my name
was much more cool
sounding like Luke or
or Dante or some shit
like that?
Everyday, I’m insane.
How many times
have I truly seen a
power strong enough to
make the world a better
place for all its’
creatures, not just
humankind and its’
selfish nature,
twisting nature
for its’ own
betterment?
Once, it is dead.
I’m insane.
How many times
have I marveled at
the virtual “tabla
rosa” I was at my
conception, and now I
am filled with so much
food, so much
drink, so much
knowledge of what
I do and do not
want to be or
become, so many
pains, scars from
where life wasn’t as
promised, and so many
intoxicants to ease
my mind?
Sometimes, I’m insane.
How many times
have I felt a
gnawing void inside
me from things I have
yet to accomplish, like
the way I felt when I
was little and my toy
box accidentally spilled
out, making me cry for
the loss of what meant
so much then?
Every second, I’m insane.
stan pelfrey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/201-insanity-in-the-box/
