CRAZED VECTORS, POISONED STATES
1
another day
gone aft agley,
another morn
on which to mourn
amidst a life
that's naught but strife,
pent by a race
with evil's face
2
such illnesses...
we plunge into a pit
of unsuspected ailing,
we can not function
despite demand,
we can not suffice
for these tasks before us,
these fleeting dreams
3
hidden, hidden,
oh, hidden space,
would I could find you
and crawl into your
comforting darkness
to shelter me
from these blades
and raging storms
4
holy nightmare,
Batman;
how little's left
of which to draw,
we sink into
unsullied pasts
trying not to be
the target of the day
5
we are diverted,
scrambled, misaligned,
our vector is crazed,
leaving us delirious,
unable to crawl
to find the light,
to pass beyond
this poisoned state
- Brendan Tripp
05/22/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
