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Rage
Some say that once you take on religion that your problems go away. That's poppycock if I ever heard it. Life still goes on, you simply have a backing to help you change. But you cannot do it alone. Often, I try to deal with my anger alone, rather than truly giving it over. And I always end up slipping back to that insane anger and rage which once had a firm grip on me.
Rage
Eight o'clock, and all's not well.
Instead I sit here alone.
I sit here in the field, and resist the rage.
I cannot let her see it.
She doesn't see me.
She'll never see me.
But she can see my rage.
The flame, the burning, the pain,
It sears my soul, leaving flesh unmarred.
I hide it, conceal it, bury it,
Yet it again digs itself up.
Rage brings insanity, and insanity loneliness,
And I despise being alone.
I set myself apart, break from the world,
My pen to the paper is my sword to the flesh,
The ink my life's blood.
Should she see?
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(c) Copyright 1997 Joshua Smith. All Rights Reserved.
The contents of this page are the original works of Joshua David Smith, and cannot be reproduced without the permission of the author. Any unlawful reproduction will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.