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Poetry: Rage

Anger.
Jostling bolts of electricity
Screaming, the rain flood down from the sky
My eyes relentlessly watching

I fear the day.
It terrifies me. All of life, the constant
stabbing of my heart fills me with intense
distress and mortal grievances.

Oh, how am I supposed to recuperate the lost
antiques of a world not known to me?
People are so different, giving birth to a sense


of hatred and fear, sadness and isolation

I stare at a small insect on the floor.
It looks lost, helpless as I feel then.
No one around, tears gathering in my eyes.
Sorrow darkening my already darkened heart.

So much grief and pain.
A comatose of regret and disbelief.
A tall building ahead of me; dark and
desirable. The shadows everywhere
The shadows in my eyes, blinding

The heat inside me.
I feel so much hatred welling up in me,
burning at an intoxicating level of rage!
The shadows are gathering again.
How is it so, that I see nothing, but
can sense hatred and rage, and burning?

I'm lost, lost amongst the whirlpool of red.
The redness of the ground swirls,
captivates me, devours my heart, eating
away inside of me, snarling.

The rage that sears my heart...
feels like thunder booming.
The rage that tears agony from my
heart to my head; the tears reforming.

And all I see, hear, taste and smell...
is the sickly sense of rage.
The redness envelops me...

Learn more about this author, Ian Black.
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Poetry: Rage

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Poetry: Rage

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