Rage

She tries to recover her composure and regain self control. 
Each time she loses her temper, havoc wreaks upon her soul. 
She feels too deeply to suppress the intensity under the surface.
Her anger has no limit, her voice has no purpose. 
Fingers point as she is the only one to blame 
Guilt holds her under, drowning her in shame.
For such madness there must be a potion
She's at it again lost in the commotion.
Screaming into space without any lyrics
Below wanders an angry crushed spirit. 
Most can not handle what lives inside
Alone, they leave her stripped of her pride.
She gains many but is soon to lose 
All are frightened of her short fuse. 
Oh, she pretends it doesn't hurt
With disaster she's known to flirt.
Heat rises in her chest 
Now she'll do what she does best,
Rage. 

 

 

◄ Kindred Strangers

Frisson. ►

Comments

Robert Haigh

Fri 11th Sep 2020 21:26

An expressive poetic piece. That demon rage lurks in all of us. Some can tame it, or at least control it, but it is still there, at our core.

Nicola Beckett

Mon 7th Sep 2020 07:36

Rage soon calms, I have friends who are Painters and musicians, sometimrs they put my words to songs, I'm very passionate and I make no excuses for being me or the way I am, some may love me sole may hate or criticise but I look for the love and the light now always....... Blessings

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