TOO MANY NAILS
having nothing,
lost amid chaos;
we can almost leave,
we can touch the places
that we need
and know they yet exist
even though this world
still binds us in its chains
we spin plans now
of difference, alteration,
seeking to somehow
drive a wedge between
the cracks in this facade
and reach beyond
the mundane cage
to the other world outside
ancient echoes ring
from walls within this,
strange resonances
with good things lost
as though they were
still somewhere here
and not destroyed
by the sleeping race
still, too many nails
affix us here,
we have become
one with our torment;
were we to rip away,
what would be left,
just tattered bloody bits
and the sound of our screams?
these systems fail us,
nothing filters out the fear
or blocks the gnawing
of anxiety on the soul;
no matter how closely
we might touch our Eden,
the reality of this Hell
wins out at the last
- Brendan Tripp
06/29/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp