BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

More Poems! 4 of 4 ...

OK ... now I'm missing Farscape, so I need to quit blithering in here.

The world sucks and I can trust nobody in it. Some days suicide looks like a big tasty banana split ... somedays getting a case of ammo and going on a mass-murder spree sounds like a plausible plan. Some people have tried to convince me that "since the universe tends to work in cycles" that I have a whole lot of good coming my way since I've been immersed in the worst sort of excrement for as long as I can remember ... but I don't trust that thinking ... hell, I might have been born into a "shit life" cycle which takes 3,000 years to make its turn ... which would be just my luck. Here's the fourth of these from this week ... this one has a lot to do with my Mom turning on me.


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                    NIGHTMARES NOT OF OUR HAND


                    too many pressures,
                    too much rage,
                    every day
                    we are blind-sided
                    by unsuspected blasts,
                    every day
                    life grows more bitter
                    and harder to defend

                    can we trust no one?
                    can we rely
                    on nothing in this world?
                    we're too used to hiding
                    in the shadows and corners,
                    trying to avoid mundane attacks;
                    what to do when all safety
                    has been stripped away?

                    we are forced now
                    into blasted open plains
                    with no shelter, no cover,
                    no place to retreat;
                    here every barb, every dart,
                    every brick, every stone,
                    finds its target
                    in unprotected clear

                    how long, how long,
                    how long must we stand
                    within these cross-hairs,
                    in hellish being
                    yet not quite dead?
                    how long must we endure
                    this incessant assault,
                    this unending torment?

                    we have nowhere to turn
                    and no place to go;
                    all allies turn enemy,
                    our faith always spurned,
                    we are lured into nightmares
                    not of our hand
                    and mocked, and derided,
                    belittled and cursed



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                06/20/2002

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
 
 



visit the BTRIPP home page



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