rage

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?