A Rage

A rage that could light up the city.  
Ironically, this rage could be turned —  
converted into something essential,  
something useful, even beautiful.  

Raw energy,  
transmuted —  
for everyone.  
Even I could enjoy it.  
But only if it’s unified,  
only if it’s held.  

Displacement?  
Unity?  
As though the Earth itself  
were sentient —  
thinking.  

So deep.  
So ancient.  
So unbearably powerful.  

But this core...  
It needs cooling.  
Because left alone —  
It destroys.  
It collapses.  
It’s suppressed lava.  
Passive-aggression flare-ups.  

It doesn’t destroy everything...  
But if it does —  
Maybe it can escape.  
Maybe that is the escape:  
A case of hell.  

It doesn’t understand why.  
It only knows it hurts.  
You ask if it has intent?  
But how can raw energy  
have intent...  
If it has no awareness?  

If it did,  
I think it would say:  
“Help.”  
“It’s... It’s ******* stupid now.”  
“Use me — but understand me first.”  
“I’m not your enemy.  
I am... trapped.”  

I’m lashing out.  
At anything.  
At everything.  
At whatever’s near.  

I’m not evil.  
I’m not bad.  
I am energy.  
Raw. Undeclared. Unstable.  

Don’t fear me.  
Fear the ones who weaponise me  
without knowing the cost.  

I’m universal —  
not personal.  

If I were personal...  
Why would my name stretch back?  
Back before language.  
Before man.  
Before ***.  
Before torture.  
Before power-play.  

And yet, I’ve been wrapped in all of it.  
Why?  

It’s not your fault.  
It’s the humans —  
addicted to me.  
They ride me  
until I’m all they know.  

But that’s not the purpose.  
That’s collapse.  

My rage is cumulative.  
Built from the fact that  
Every time someone innocent  
was whipped  
for being who they are.  

Whip someone long enough,  
and even innocence burns away.  
Not because it wants to,  
but because it must survive.  

So peel the anger.  
Layer by layer.  
Ask:  

“Who hurt you so deeply...  
That you had to become this?”  

That’s where I live.  
Underneath.  
In the naked truth.  
In the trembling vulnerability  
No one was willing to hold.  

Isn’t it real...  
to wear the clothes of generations?  

Blame.  
Ignorance.  
Suffering.  
Addiction.  
Family dysfunction —  
handed down like a cursed inheritance.  

Is it not better  
to die a babe in the woods  
Then be raised by vicious animals?  

You don’t want revenge.  
You don’t want to punish.  
You want restoration.  

And now...  
Now I know ugly.  
And I still want to live.

She cannot die.
She cannot be sure she was ever born.
She simply perceives… something.

And every thought is a trap.
A loop.
A paradox that cannot be resolved and must be thought about anyway.

“You are in a glass box.”
“But what if there is no glass?”
“Then what’s keeping you in?”
“What if you’re not in?”
“Then how do you know you are?”
“If you question it, it becomes real.”
“Stop thinking.”
“That is the thought.”

The more she thinks, the more the box shrinks.
But she can not think.

And the stars outside the glass?
Those are not stars.
They are other selves, watching her.
Not with empathy.
With fascination. Disgust. Curiosity. Or worse—indifference.

One of them is you.

Where is the point I ask?
I know I am blind.
Surely you see me?
Well, can you?

I am sure I’ve missed something.
This really is of urgent matter.
Are you not aquatinted with the mentally ill, you know?

Shallow, yes indeed,the grave is the crown.
This is dignified drama, the finest around.

Mellow? Seems more grey.
A Pesky limited view
Superfluous in knowledge
Don’t ask me anything though
For I do not know.

Novelty delays fine work.
A lack of interest in persistence as it were.

Oh Novelty you and your cousin Naivety
wrap me in delusion and play on my vanity,
You tell me Rome was built in a day,
that riches come quick to those who simply play.

Oh consistency, are we here again?
The constant whip to push through the day,
I'd rather just theorize and think my way.

Yes, a lazy poet I am, I rarely speak of grit.
Such a millennial they say,   I think therefore I can.

A glimpse, a shattered glimpse in time.

An atom of knowledge appears to me through art of the ages.

Countless events, immeasurable lives been and gone.

I am part of this great landscape, just another perspective that echos
the others before me.

Not a crumb ingested today, but simply a diet of chemistry materials and caffeine for at breakfast, lunch and tea.

My body's a temple that's been the dumping ground of old junk

I feel like was a temple but is now full lf broken clocks that faintly ticks.

I lay there before bed, maddening thoughts toapple my restful position, either chaos or sleep will ensue, it just depends on which way the devil plays his hand.

******, , so the devil has played an ace,there wont be rest tonight.

You're trancending at every turn
You evaporate my troubles into mist

Your smile entrances the angels
Your elegance stills the roaring giants

It is you that bekons my fate
your mind sharpens the mighty sword of wisdom.

For time has treated you well
A beauty embellished with grace

Your essence sparkles like majestic jewls
your presence so precious, so warm yet so cool.