poem portraying the anger of the world |
RAGE A purity of poison Running through the Veins of anyone near. Drawing all Innocence on One page and ripping it into What kind of power can so Easley tear a man from his Peace give him a shield and a Sword and march him straight Into battle. Not venom, as such, A sharp prick to the thigh would Not amount to half the destructive Capability, this poison, every man Is born with and will be the dearth Of every last one. Consequently is it fair to Say that every Man has his price, That given the right Amount of luxury or wealth, Stomp and Strangle innocence At its rawest, but what Man would Admit this willingly. So if this poison That no one can escape Is always inside and well, Then how can any man live in such a Horrid place, that the hate that Can stir at any moment By anyone, can engulf The rest of the world with it. But yet some lead relentlessly Fighting this extreme power With the only weapon available Their hearts. For what is stronger than The will to do good. The fiery bubble that encapsulates Us all, is cooled from deeper within, The antidote we must be born with As well. So why when surrounded with the infection And hatred and anger, why do not more of Us join the fight? Why? Because It is always easier to do nothing. Everything will be gone in the End and then what will we have? |