However, a prett decent poem seems to have percolated up from all this crap ... and I strongly suggest that you CLICK ON THE LJ-CUT THING that I've started to use to cut down on the line count on these posts. Hey, I'm trying to be NICE here! Want more ugly emotional hemorrhaging? The rest of this stuff is at http://i.am/btripp ... the Archive of my agonies (or something like that).
MIRRORS OBSCURED TO VISION
broken schedules
dashed intents
all we'd do
is blocked by the outside
all our meaning
crushed by mundane force
into scattered bits,
wind-blown fragments
once the veil of dusk removes
what is left us?
a true exhaustion,
legitimate pain,
and the prompt return
of all that fear?
strapped upon this wheel
we have no answers
war-torn, civilized,
we muddle through
grasping what we can
from what is left us
huddled deeply down
against the blast
waiting for the time
when things might not be hard
always darkness hovers
just outside the cone of sight,
a shadow flitting
at the extremes,
a presence looming
somehow behind, around,
beyond focus, identification,
and the ability to deal
so much is lost here,
and we, too, go missing ...
the lines of our location
don't seem to intersect
for coordinated states;
the place within is dusty,
as though long empty
abandoned to its fate
- Brendan Tripp
03/07/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
