Crash

By Jamison Robert Huebsch and the Wolf called Rage

All emotions have a sound,
Something you want to call out,
When possessed by it,
Screams of pain,
Moans of pleasure,

The sound of rage is more complex,
It is the sound of the crash,
Of the splinter,
The screech of metal,
Of all things breaking,
Submitting to the fury,
Giving way,

Rage is imposing your will on the world,

I have with in me,
The one named rage,
He bears grey fur,
And sharp fangs,
His eyes are reflective yellow,
Seeking the night and the hunt,

I want to break wood,
Bend metal,
Shatter glass,
And let it fall like a thousand broken dreams,
A hundred broken hearts,
A dozen feelings,
Tinkling to the ground,

Rage is seductive,
It stands over the body of a broken person,
Licks it's lips tainted with blood,
Feels the sharpness of it's fangs,
Reassurance of it's vicious self,

It burns the blood,
Shapes the mind,
It is force unbound,
And the world bends or breaks at it's passing,

It's a killer charge you have to dispurse,
A energy you have to burn,
And yet it feeds on it's own burning,

Growing,
Burning,
Hotter,
SCREAMING IN RAGE,
As you break and bend and shatter,
Till nothing can resist,
Everything submits,
Or is driven away,
Everything is broken,
Lies dying,
Now the blood taints your lips,
Now your hands burn with the spent fury,
Now your body aches with the fire it contained,

And everything lies broken,
And dead,
And their blood stains your hands,
Taints your tongue with it's coppery tang,

And you swallow the results of your rage,
You feed again,
Now of the dead and dying,
Now are you sated,

Or does it only fan the flames ?