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.
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.