BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

More poems ... lucky you ...

Oh, look ... more happy things ... or as the Sex Pistols put it, "cheap holidays in other people's misery"!

                    DEFLECTING PITY'S HAND

                    all lost words,
                    the stuff of dreams
                    slipped through the mind
                    and into void;
                    we can't corral
                    the errant phrase
                    or re-attain
                    the missing line
                    so dark, so dire,
                    so hopeless now;
                    none can see
                    the panic here,
                    no one cares
                    about our pain
                    or the horror
                    coming down
                    battling the dark
                    to not succumb
                    to the siren song
                    of endless sleep;
                    we are so broken,
                    we can not heal,
                    but neither can
                    we opt to leave
                    an insane world
                    so foreign, vile,
                    it seems so seamless,
                    without a gap
                    that we could use
                    to slip away
                    to sanctuaries
                    beyond this frame
                    we see again
                    beyond the mirror
                    to the destruction
                    which bides within;
                    no blessing this,
                    the cloak of wholeness,
                    which deflects mercy
                    and pity's hand

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp


                    IN IDIOT DREAMS

                    the emptiness looms,
                    its maw draws in
                    all aspects of life,
                    bleeding purpose,
                    draining color,
                    swallowing days,
                    smearing recall
                    until meaning is gone

                    still we struggle,
                    seeking ways to float
                    above this surface,
                    but we have nothing
                    on which to stand,
                    no strength left
                    with which to fight
                    against descent

                    panic grips us
                    as darkness folds
                    all the edges;
                    nothing remains of light,
                    nothing remains of hope,
                    nothing remains of being
                    beyond this nightmare,
                    this vile decay

                    like quicksand traps,
                    every action made
                    only seems to sink
                    us deeper into doom;
                    all reaching out
                    simply fragments
                    the focus we once had
                    into broken bits

                    pointless striving
                    and idiot dreams,
                    these are all that's left,
                    the only way to fill
                    the useless hours
                    separating death
                    from this tormented living
                    this pain and despair

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp


Ah, now wasn't that FUN?

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