BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

Six Poems ... #5

One thing that DID get done on this weekend was fixing Daughter #1's computer ... Daughter #2 had decided a number of months ago that if one CD was good in the drive, then 3 CDs would even be better ... needless to say, much unpleasant noise followed, and I had to rip the front of fhte drive to extract the drawer with the 3 discs. It has been sitting there waiting for me to swap in a new drive since. Got that done yesterday morning. Dauther #1 did opine that my various muttered suicidal wishes ("oh, good, maybe I'll electrocute myself") were much against their preference. Nice to know that at least TWO people (and I aint' one of them!) think I'm better off alive! Which, of course, brings us to yet another lovely poem ...

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                    SURVIVAL NONE EXPECT

                    the hooks impale,
                    the chains snap taut,
                    and acceleration
                    drags us behind;
                    we are locked now into
                    the insane rush,
                    hurtling forward
                    without design

                    our intents
                    mean nothing here,
                    once opted for
                    the ride decides
                    what turns to make,
                    what hills to climb,
                    what deep abysses
                    to pull us through

                    still we strive
                    for some control,
                    like prisoners
                    we can but rearrange
                    the minor details,
                    this to here and
                    that to there
                    within our cage

                    and yet we're left
                    with broken things
                    in twisted time,
                    too many enemies
                    to expect survival,
                    too alien
                    to fit anywhere
                    in this, their world

                    all our dreams
                    go sour here;
                    our base, our stance
                    is mocked
                    by a hostile race,
                    a killing world,
                    a poisoned zone
                    which seeks our death

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp

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