I actually wrote a poem yesterday. Yes, amazingly, the thing behind the cut below is a NEW bit of writing! I went over yesterday evening to get Daughter #1 from her play rehearsal (tonight is their show, repeating tomorrow afternoon), and had not been aware that they were going to be going late. So, I had a half hour or so to kill, and figured "what the heck!" and pulled out my ittybitty notebook and scrawled this out.
IN PANIC'S FRAME
1
mind's detritus
strewn, flung,
filling spaces
on mental planes;
we can not navigate
a path through here,
we stumble,
fall and fail
2
swirling mists
hide deceits,
cloaking sheets
of pouring rain
disguise the cliffs
that voyagers might crash
or plummet to their death
all unawares
3
shell on shell,
of madness formed,
the nightmare
without waking;
echoing insanity
cage to cage,
terror to terror,
every time we're freed
4
in some mass,
some viscous void
swallowing all meaning,
dampening intent;
we run without motion,
we reach without touch,
no action, no stillness,
in panic's frame
5
and so, it's done,
this empty thing,
the dance of life
so dark and dire,
all broken dreams
and hollow hopes,
twisted visions,
and delusional beliefs
- Brendan Tripp
05/13/2004
Copyright © 2004 by Brendan Tripp
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