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
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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!