Sorry ... no refunds.
LOST, UNCHARTED
so many things forgotten
so much that we have lost
there is a breakdown
within the system
discontinuities
that effect all lines
no connection for belief
no basis for a trust
age creeps in
where anguish touches
slowing, damaging,
pressing aside
to zones of nothing,
pointless waiting
for an ending
and the invading shade
all things find darkness
in these days;
sleeping, sickness,
conspire to steal
our hours from us
weakness chop-blocks
leaving us writhing
unable to stand
there is no promise here
just pitiful dreams
of the lowest form
the common fantasies
of the senseless mob;
all goodness bleeds
into unholy pools
of loss and despair
such are the doldrums
the spaces awaiting
the whirlpool draw
to final downflows
and cold crushing depths
we have no vectors
or means to move
we are lost, uncharted
- Brendan Tripp
08/05/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp