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.
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
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.
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