MADNESS' TENDRILS
no expectation
we ride collapsing
mountain sides
whose broken fragments
hurtle down
taking with them
all semblance of order
all structure or theme
faced with madness'
tendrils snaking through
the realm of the mundane,
we can not counter,
we can not parry,
with wielded truths
as they won't see
the subtle blade
these chaos fibers
now weave the whole;
there is no region
that's not decayed,
no frame or segment
that's without taint,
no place within here
without that stain
rage envelops
all that survives;
a smoldering red,
a thick choking pall,
a lingering flame
that aches to destroy
all enemies seen
and hidden from light
these battles churn on,
enveloping days
and weeks and months and years,
there is no respite,
there's never any rest;
we are stuck in stasis
within the storm
with no harbor, with no peace
- Brendan Tripp
09/12/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
