WITHIN AMBER, ENTOMBED
the darkest days
unable to be,
thickly embedded
unable to do,
no vector aligns
no function persists
we are stuck within amber,
entombed for the age
unlikely visions
swarm before eyes
we can not sort
prodigy from delusion
can't determine
what is stranger here
and what's unreal,
solely of the mind
we press too hard
at our constraints
and come to bleed
at all connecting points,
anguish follows terror
into the sea of dread
we are paralyzed
with no means of escape
now come ventures
so full of fear
that they seem distant
so filtered by desire
to pass them by
even though they linger
immediate at hand
ready to destroy
against intent
against belief
webs are spinning
in wrong configurations
what is trapped within?
we, unwitting,
become the prey
despite all will
- Brendan Tripp
11/04/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's ten ...
UNEASE THE OCEAN
into strange darkness,
so unprepared,
we are ripped from ease
and placed into air
vectored with heat
and without recourse
against every fever's
delusional slide
not in these times
or in these places
context devolves
buttressed by prayer
we journey so far
in contrary ways
and worry return
can not be attained
sweltering doubt
and fitful fears,
unease the ocean
in which we swim;
patterns emerge
tracing the lines
of previous nightmares,
long dissolved dreams
the factors active
are not the ones
held within plan
we dread diversion
and wasted days
and doubt the function
of these hours pressed
to service here
all things collapse
that we hold dear
all that we've built
is swept away
before the blast
of evil worlds
whose relentless rage
seeks our demise
- Brendan Tripp
11/05/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's eleven ...
ENDLESS CHAINS OF LOSS
so many failings
so much undone
we can't attain
the basic states
nor achieve modes
of mere survival
so broken here,
cast down so low
in fevered dreams
and tracks of history
we can't align
with either frame
we can't return
to long-lost freedoms
or to depend
on future days
all things unreal
deep in the nightmare
with no escaping
no true release;
cycles and spheres
press on me now
with bands and blades
spikes and cudgels
how to meet need?
all the forms are bent
to deflect our grasp
and every want
is tainted with dread
nothing unsullied
nothing untouched
by hidden costs
the touch of death
corrupts the soul
we are poisoned,
laid waste by days
in ceaseless conflict,
endless chains of loss,
we are dragged down
into the crushing dark
- Brendan Tripp
11/07/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's twelve ...
SO FAR BELOW OUR DREAMS
everything breaks down
turns to darkness
we swim in poisons
a bane-filled world
all hostile and insane
life's a nightmare
twisted and unreal
evil and malign
all things conspire
to serve up failure
nothing we try
meets with success
no effort expended
attains its goal
no sought-for aim
is ever achieved
days drag downward
desperately doomed
all is illness
all is anguish
all is horror,
despair and dread,
chained to direst fates
and futures full of fear
I can not face tomorrow
I can not stand today
our history devolves
to a tragedy, a farce,
pointless and bitter
clown-like in ways
of inevitable pain
and ridiculous falls
we have nothing left
to sustain us
our every act a failure
our breath, our steps,
all insufficient
all falling short
of our intent
and so far below our dreams
- Brendan Tripp
11/09/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's thirteen ...
UNABLE TO UNWIND
how unrelenting
how much the same
do we relive
the same cycles
again and again?
is this damnation
not linearly set
but spinning iterations?
the day leads down
as it always does
into cycles of anguish
and dead ends of pain
nothing good
ever counters this
no relief, no release,
no way to flee
every positive
is swamped beneath
the raging flood
of broken dreams
of cruel fate
of horrid luck
which tears apart our spirit
and suffocates our soul
we can not believe
in tomorrow
we can not have hope
of better days
we can not trust prayer
to find an answer
instead of mocking
and derisive spite
this evil world
this stupid race
all things are twisted,
knotted, unable to unwind,
we need a sword
to cut this open
to split the madness
and rend the vile mundane
- Brendan Tripp
11/10/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's fourteen ...
ALL THINGS, RANCID WITH BILE
1
no matter how hard
we focus in time
the hours slip by
without achieving
we stand, stunned
in the face of failure
wondering if ever
we could succeed
2
how twisted the world
how evilly set
to terrorize us
with unending abuse
but sometimes its plan
is too convoluted
and offers to us
the third out of three
3
what should be good
is wrapped up in dread
knowing frustration
will sweep through day
and cause us to falter
before it can arise
and make all things sweet
rancid with bile
4
no solution
nor any results
the slate is barren
ground to dust
we are an emptiness
void not unfilled
a blank negation
with no point to start
5
and further down
these gravities drag
we are forced into anguish
and darker despair
new modes of blackness
with less light than Hell
and deeper depressions
than any survive
- Brendan Tripp
11/11/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... and that's fifteen! Almost 1/3 through that notebook ... once again, lucky you!
Yes, I do think I'm going to be trying to press though getting the rest of that typed up ... it was bad enough that the untouched notebook sat untranscribed for nearly four years, but it would drive me nuts to have a half-finished project hanging like that, so look for a bunch more of these lovely cheery screeds showing up under an LJ-Cut on your FL in the next few days!
