IN SWAY TO LODESTONE DICTATES
1
the moments all broken
the hours all vile
existence has curdled
poisoning day
every sight
every color
every motion
twists, nauseates,
inverts all being
to modes of decay
2
how can this be,
this empty place
where no hope harbors,
no belief abides?
in this zone
are only knives
and shattered panes
of brittle edge
everything cutting
everything reduced to void
3
we are sinking
into seas of dread,
depths of horror,
fed by rivers of our fear
and storms of despair,
gripping, swamping,
churning with confusion,
frothing angst,
and crashing waves
betiding doom
4
shuffling intrudes
within the flow,
these lines scatter
no longer in sway
to lodestone dictates,
no longer held
within a whole,
strewn to chaos.
without meaning,
without a frame
- Brendan Tripp
05/17/2006
Copyright © 2006 by Brendan Tripp
Not that anybody particularly cares about such minutia ... but I found it notable that this "emerged" in a different pattern than most of my poems (which tend towards five stanzas of eight lines). It is also slightly less dark than what I'm used to seeing crawl out of my psyche. Lucky you.
