BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

watch me bleed ...

So, you wanted more poetry, did you? You wanted to see the sad man bleed more, right? Well, here are three more, all caked with gore and glowering with useless rage:



                    TOO MANY PRESSURES


                    darker shadows
                    rolling in
                    our delusions
                    fall to dust
                    leaving naked
                    the empty frame
                    of desolation,
                    dire decay

                    the scent of hope
                    turms putrid
                    once enticing
                    it now bears stinks
                    of death and carnage
                    of all these losses
                    the broken dreams
                    our useless prayers

                    nothing maintains
                    a glint of light
                    the darkness layered
                    thicker and denser
                    blacker and deeper
                    we can not breathe
                    we can not be
                    in ebon oppression

                    locked within void
                    a blank grey place
                    no grid, no lines,
                    no landmarks here
                    we drift and stumble
                    unable to form goals,
                    unable to achieve,
                    unable to retreat

                    these histories amass
                    swallowing the details
                    to a single gravity
                    which overpowers
                    all dimensions, every state;
                    we find no freedom,
                    no escape,
                    no release


                             - Brendan Tripp
                                09/11/2003

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp

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                    FOR FREEING DEATH


                    madness,
                    pure, unfiltered
                    rampant madness;
                    I am filled with it,
                    surrounded by it,
                    awash in it,
                    drowned by it,
                    defined by it

                    the world so warped
                    as to be damned;
                    myself so alien
                    that any urge
                    is seen insane,
                    any concept
                    dared to voice,
                    the raving loon

                    but their context
                    is madder still:
                    the happy chains
                    and unseen bars,
                    the willing shackles,
                    the unquestioned whip,
                    the endless sentence
                    dragging down to dust

                    how sane it is
                    to ache to flee,
                    to split away
                    from the mundane
                    and find new freedoms
                    bright within the light;
                    but that sanity
                    is to them mad

                    dark and damaged
                    is that world,
                    believing lies,
                    accepting living
                    forever in a cage;
                    I would not have it,
                    I would be freed
                    if even by my death


                             - Brendan Tripp
                                09/16/2003

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp

</center>




                    LOCKED TO DECAY


                    a deeper tumble,
                    a darker spill,
                    a point less stable,
                    less able to maintain;
                    our stance fragments here,
                    our vector fades,
                    we grow unwilling
                    to sustain

                    against the madness
                    against the blind
                    we have no weapons
                    no means to fight
                    we are bled empty
                    stripped out of time
                    left without meaning
                    barred from the light

                    this chaos envelops
                    the storm hovers near
                    threatening dreams
                    with dire forms of day
                    frozen, frustrated,
                    unable to be,
                    broken from vision,
                    locked to decay

                    these hours drain down
                    leaving nothing behind
                    but the waste of a life
                    and a ring of despair
                    who cleans the carnage?
                    who sorts the files?
                    I've moved past that worry
                    and eclipsed that care

                    hopelessly hopeless
                    in anguished descent
                    nothing to save us,
                    nothing to free,
                    all darkness and downfall,
                    panic and angst,
                    plummeting prospects
                    with no way to flee


                             - Brendan Tripp
                                09/17/2003

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp

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Hope you're happy. Lord knows I'm not!


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