'Where rage consumes, nothing remains.'
The Sunset Vagabond
Some murderers and killers believe
that deep underneath Ragetown,
the stadium of rage and madness,
lies a vault with the strongest locks.
Drums accompany you up the steps
to a molten forged steel door,
sparks and embers
convulsing at the seams.
No one knows what lies behind them.
It may be a brimstone and lava torment,
fire rolling against the roof of chaos,
or maybe the white heat of anger
bursting into a vibrant bloom,
the frozen rage of old grievances,
so old they became crystallised,
fossilised and magnified,
formed over millennia
into the eye of the ichthyosaur,
a rim of untainted insanity
orbiting an infinite void
of eternal wrath.
(Happy World Poetry Day to all you poetry people out there! Hope the world is treating you all reasonably, and for those of you taking part in NaPoWriMo next month I wish you the best of luck. As a precursor to the madness ahead, what better than a poem literally about the heart of anger? Hope you enjoy and I'll see you all on the next poem!)
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