THE CONTINUING SLIDE
swirling miasmas
of disappointment
enveloping fog banks
of pain
we have landed
in vile centers
cast in nightmares
spun from dreams
nothing anticipated
finds fruition
nothing constructed
deigns to stand
we have fallen
into failures
crueller, deeper,
than any hell
set in a darkness
negating the sun
poisoned by grief
and tainted with doubt
that nothing will change
at least for the good
only cycles of descent
to still lower states
scrambled hours
which attain naught
but more confusion
more delusions
we strive and plan
without a prayer
destruction's assured
success a deceit
no hope remains
in broken day
we are cast down
into these frames
of direst futures
and dimmest fates
so much that death
seems our sole escape
- Brendan Tripp
04/25/2001
Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp