BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

Poems? POEMS??? You can't be SERIOUS! - #2

OK ... here are the ones from March '03 ... hopefully I'll get all five in here without having to go to yet another post!



                    EMPTY FLOWS TOO DARK


                    so much unaligned
                    set into void
                    grey areas behind
                    the seams and surface
                    lost zones denied grid
                    empty flows too dark
                    to be charted
                    in formal lore

                    too many dreams break
                    pounding on these shores
                    we can not keep up
                    renewing sand
                    when all is taken
                    swirling into waste
                    drifting into depths
                    only one with death

                    bits of light
                    can not break free
                    of looming darkness,
                    a glimmer here,
                    a flash of light off there,
                    to show some surface
                    but not define
                    the form thereof

                    what vessel dares
                    plow through the blackness,
                    what foolish ship
                    would test consuming night?
                    we are lost here
                    on alien shores
                    unable to venture
                    across that dire abyss

                    madness grips us
                    we can not move
                    no paths unfold
                    no vectors bid
                    our feet to step
                    away from here
                    frozen, crushing
                    the moment takes all breath



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                03/01/2003

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp

</center>




                    THIS THEN, THE LIE


                    1
                    segmented being,
                    the fractured self;
                    repeated blows
                    chip off shards,
                    strewing fragments
                    in killing fields,
                    mines of anguish,
                    traps of our despair
                    2
                    what is stolen
                    from out of time?
                    nothing has meaning
                    within these days
                    which themselves
                    have no point
                    but to lead us lower,
                    ever closer to doom
                    3
                    this then, the lie,
                    divorced from the real,
                    polar to truth,
                    only filling needs
                    to swaddle loss
                    and mask the failures
                    which scream yet ghostly
                    far off in the wings
                    4
                    who might know
                    what transpires?
                    the thoughts dissolve,
                    the words stay dark,
                    never seeing open light;
                    there are no hours
                    allowing being,
                    only time to die
                    5
                    everything descends now,
                    a trek into damnation,
                    a journey into depths
                    unsuspected by the mass;
                    we are haunted by the spirit
                    of every dream destroyed,
                    harried by the anguish
                    of all we've not achieved


                             - Brendan Tripp
                                03/03/2003

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp

</center>




                    DARKER MODES TO TAINT


                    between the distance
                    in not what is
                    set apart, we find
                    niches not defiled
                    zones in shadow
                    what are not touched
                    by poisoned day
                    and can be harbors

                    there are cycles
                    within these turns
                    we see the darkness
                    meld with the shade
                    and make new blacks
                    darker modes to taint
                    that which waits inside
                    praying for release

                    these forms oppress
                    their lines dismay
                    for all lead downward
                    into that abyss
                    of endless failure
                    and greater loss
                    and futures filled with torment
                    for these, the special damned

                    every step we take
                    leads on to grey,
                    to unknown lands
                    and frames of fear
                    which have no answer;
                    we have no allies here,
                    all eyes spout blades
                    and intent to kill

                    no purpose serves
                    no meaning maintains
                    there is no linkage
                    from effect to cause
                    everything is frozen
                    into one descending state
                    nothing remains
                    for glimmers of hope



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                03/11/2003

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp

</center>




                    OBLITERATION, DARKER THAN ALL NIGHT


                    1
                    a dial rotating
                    words fly through
                    piercing aethers
                    on vectors strewn
                    from other planes
                    none connecting
                    none framing theme
                    none reaching whole
                    2
                    in transformation
                    nothing's reached
                    nothing has the form
                    which would allow
                    a gelling home;
                    cast adrift now
                    in this storm
                    with no hope of shore
                    3
                    event horizons stand
                    across our path
                    there is no going
                    no way to move
                    without a loss
                    of this dimension
                    an alienation
                    from common zones
                    4
                    we are displaced
                    set into corners
                    of shifting planes
                    we can not map
                    an exit from here
                    as every step
                    is met with shifts
                    which leave us trapped
                    5
                    closer still
                    these walls impinge,
                    air too heavy
                    to even breathe;
                    we are implosion,
                    the crushing point
                    of obliteration,
                    darker than all night


                             - Brendan Tripp
                                03/12/2003

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp

</center>




                    ONE FLESH WITH DOOM


                    from scattered zones
                    the center folds
                    we have no grasp
                    within this set
                    all is emptied
                    tumbled out
                    vacant in vision
                    hollow in frame

                    too much loss
                    surrendering now
                    we can not focus
                    on any tide
                    our anguish blurs
                    past any lines
                    all swirling poison
                    and deep decline

                    we have no guide
                    no contact point
                    we are dragged beneath
                    the storming waves
                    held to darkness
                    set to cold
                    faded out
                    past all recall

                    wasted hours fill
                    all these pointless days
                    no substance
                    nor any hope
                    we link the moments
                    with dire intent
                    which has no meaning
                    only a flow

                    and all beliefs
                    in here decay
                    nothing in this world
                    deserving trust
                    nothing in this life
                    untouched by death
                    all outside of dreams
                    one flesh with doom



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                03/22/2003

                    Copyright © 2003 by Brendan Tripp

</center>
There ya go ... now, wasn't that just a load of fun?


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