EACH DROP VERTIGINOUS
the words not marked,
though clear and real,
bleed off to time
and cease to be;
where in the mists
do these dissolve,
where in the shadows
might they hide?
a game of loss
surrounds me now,
a dance between
gaping chasms
of anguish, despair,
regret and remorse,
each drop vertiginous,
each edge insane
no plans succeed,
no intents bloom
to yield the harvest
that we would have,
the darkness is
too deep for that,
the cloaking angst
far too tight
and even within
transposition
we find failure,
despite all strain
our schemes collapse
leaving nothing
but the ache
and the shame
darkness enfolds
but we find no rest,
the void but a cage
without bars of walls,
the emptiness a trap
with no way out,
these eternities a sentence
which has no end
- Brendan Tripp
09/30/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp