THEY THE WEAPON
1
echoes without meaning,
impressions without soul,
what forms of need
and of intention
when we are exiled
and unable to connect
to the homeland
to that distant shore?
2
there is no shelter,
no sanctuary,
there's no true respite
from this assault
as every lull
from pain and anguish
is but a tease
before fresh onslaughts
3
here's the abyss,
it yawns before us;
all support drops,
all illusion fades
and we plummet into void
betrayed by the world,
exiled by the race,
damned by the fates
4
so much anguish,
so harsh this pain,
it reaches soul deep
and curdles all else;
there is nothing left
for us to believe,
all hopes are shattered,
all dreams destroyed
5
all things turn
against us now,
no belief,
no thread of trust;
we are the target,
they the weapon,
all wait the killing,
the final flay
- Brendan Tripp
07/10/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp