All right all right, so I'm not the greatest poet of all time… That's an understatement! Here goes nothing. This poem, obviously called Rage, is pretty much reflective of me when my temper flares up… Part of how I got my name, lol. Judge 4 urself



Essence of Fire

Maybe not caused by more than a difference of opinion

But it burns me inside

No logic satisfies rage, nothing except pain

To cause pain; is the partnering thought of rage

It courses like burning molten iron

Impossible to resist

All I can do is succumb

For the moment, be the same horror Satan consorts with

One fallen angel, in a cold world

Rage takes its own course and time

Subsidiary to nothing,

not even the turning force of the universe, known as love

It bubbles and flares up with passion and consumes all in its path

Withering goodwill and patience,

Friendship and all else

Lost in red swirls, I lash out at one and all

Until It is self-consumed; burned out of its own existence.

And then comes the rain

Tears; the aftertaste of uncontrollable rage

Cleansing as the waters of Noah's flood

Welling up, filling and overwhelming my torn and broken soul

Bringing healing and relief; quenching the smoldering ruin of a badly burned heart

God's way of cleaning up the carnage and debris of Satan's storm

Essence of water, life and light; unfailing in spirit

And I am healed

Only to be burned once more.

*Flame *