IRONIC THE TRUTH
1
threads of doom twisted
into these tapestries,
records foretelling
the darkest of days;
the harbinger voice
has echoed within,
we sense the clouds form
a smothering pall
2
the freak show arrives
out on the street,
the busses, and the El;
subhuman creatures
all on parade
with jugglers, clowns,
and unwieldy beasts
distorting the flow
3
we find the chains,
we find the nails,
we gather mounds
of broken glass;
for all these failures
are ours alone
and we must now punish
the faulted one
4
ritual enactment
weighed down by time,
we must not only pass
through these motions
but appear to all
as though we too believed;
how ironic the truth
is only known to us
5
not with intention,
never with plan,
we ride the tumult
trying to achieve,
trying to attain
some crumbs of winning,
some fragment of success
as a consolation prize
- Brendan Tripp
07/03/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
