BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

OK ... new poems ... 6 of 10

Eeeeeew ... the title of this one is for the putrid doggerel in the first stanza ... I usually try to make the effort to ensure that any attempts at rhyming never see the light of day! Being one of my "sectional" poems, the first stands in stark balance to the rest (especially stanza #3) and so has something of a place in this poem, which definately improves as it goes on.




                    OH, THE HORROR!


                    1
                    where in the span
                    of morning's strife
                    is the left the room
                    for filling life,
                    and where within
                    chaotic day
                    can be found time
                    for simple play?
                    2
                    some times the voice
                    comes in from darkness,
                    some times the voice
                    rolls across the years,
                    some times the voice
                    resounds as prophet,
                    sometimes the voice
                    is beyond our ken
                    3
                    where goes a rage diffused
                    or a madness settled?
                    are there other zones
                    which receive these storms
                    or, like dark Yama, feast
                    upon the tumult
                    eagerly imbibing
                    the fuel of insane hate?
                    4
                    are there clues hidden
                    within the fabric of sight
                    which speak to fates
                    and what may come to be?
                    I can not believe these
                    when they arise here,
                    so scarred by betrayal
                    in all events past
                    5
                    surviving in the rubble
                    of a world destroyed
                    by mundane malice
                    puerile spiteful norms
                    we give up on rescue
                    and wait for death's arrival
                    to give us a release
                    from all this pain


                             - Brendan Tripp
                                07/16/2002

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp




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