A seething rage engulfs me.
Anger, hate and spite consume me.
I shake in fury,
And tremble wildly.
No fairness will grace me.
No justice awaits me.
I stand alone, with goodness in my hand.
Outstretched it went unnoticed.
Withdrawn it spawned distaste.
To what end is such disdain?
For ages I lived among you.
Forlorn I have become.
An outsider here, a stranger there.
No closure or forgiveness.
No understanding or recognition.
No embrace. No trust.
Alone I stand, with goodness in my heart.
Presented it gained no favor.
Unused it gathered insult.
Diluted it lost its potency.
With dosage, it sparked no memory.
Unneeded.
Unheard.
Rejected.
Distrusted.
Misunderstood.
Forgotten.
Unseen.
Destroyed.
My kindness withered.
My anger blossomed.
My rage unquenchable.
Revenge became my passion.
Obsessed I have become.
For you I come.
For you I long.
For you I live.
For you I cry.
For you I wish.
For you I strive.
No story of light and dark.
No moral shall you find.
Your morals I despise.
Hypocrisy and lies.
No parable of good or bad.
No closure shall there be.
No victory.
No happiness.
No end.
For you I sing.
To darkness is this ode.
To emptiness within.
Your soulless greetings I abhor.
Your little talk with little meaning.
Your smiles of deception.
Your stories of right and wrong.
Your tales of superhero might,
Your voracious fantasy and magic,
And love for happy endings,
that always come,
In song or lesson,
From those who will never be,
Of that which never was.
How tiring it all becomes,
With time a bitter taste it leaves.
A visual infatuation,
A moral aberration,
It delights the eyes,
It strokes the mind,
It ***** you good,
And leaves you blind.
Stand down you wretched creatures!
Leave me be of your infection!
Your friendship I need not.
Your judgment I do not seek.
Your opinion matters none.
But, with it you deal the final blow.
For those who see the truth,
The truth for what it is.
A whisper in the ear,
A specter of the mind.
A change in every moment.
To you the box is empty.
It holds no secrets.
Within there is no peace.
Within there is no answer.
Outside there is no end.
To those within the box,
My burning rage you will not like.
My anger you will loathe.
My passion you will find mad.
To you I answer not!
Read these lines.
Read them well.
Spit and shout.
Yell and swear.
Fingers flaring.
Wild eyes staring.
Look at you!
Afraid are you?
My words are being read?
No, my words have fallen.
No care will they invoke.
No reasoning they beckon.
No thought do they invite.
No notice will they garner.
A childish tantrum label it?
A mental instability perhaps?
A weak character? Why not?
No confidence or luck?
Albeit a thoughtless rant?
A careless act of no one's pen?
No signature that carries weight?
What of it, you savage scribbler?
Of no significance you will be.
Of this we will make certain.
Too much words for such a tale.
Provoke the imagination? I think not.
Not simple are your words enough.
A tale too heavy for our thought.
Not worthy of our time.
Not worthy of attention.
Time shall devour.
Time shall ruin.
Time shall forget.
Publish it? Worry not!
Your words shall not be heard.
Your words mean nothing in our world.
Crazy.
Preposterous.
Imbecile.
Absurd.
No one shall know,
No one shall heed,
No one shall hail,
A worthless loner with a grudge,
A keen observer without their wit,
Thankful they are not,
For that which not was given,
We spurn thee from our land,
And rights thee never had.
We cannot bear your senseless ramble,
Condone your actions we cannot.
Isolate them.
Deprive them.
Punish them.
Crush them.
With countless rules,
With boundless laws,
With limitless procedure,
With deadly etiquette.
No chance you have,
To break our will!
Emblazoned you will be.
In words that will not end.
Forever I will leave you,
To rot in history,
To drown in agony,
To disappear without a trace,
In minds of those who dare to dream.
Your throat I slit in fiction.
Your limbs I tear without remorse,
Your body I hang in gallows slow,
Your throes for all to see.
Your ashes I throw into the wind.
Return.
Repeat.
Once more your death is certain.
My hands clean.
Accept your punishment!
Face your fears.
Embrace your end.
I will not stop until I have you.
Too long I waited.
Too long I suffered.
Too long my silence I have kept.
No more shall you ignore me.
No more will laughter mock me.
This fury will consume me,
To this I have no doubt.
With this I have no qualm.
I write for those who dare to dream.
I write for those who lost their way,
I write for those to shy to speak,
I write these words for all to hear.
Their goodness a beacon of lost hope.
Know my rage.
Feel my fury.
Experience my pain.
I shall destroy you,
Calmly like the breeze,
A sharpened blade shall cleave the head,
And poisonous blood,
shall spill for all to see,
With no regret.
Virapo Vol. I is a collection of 20 poems that touch upon themes of love, loss, rage, depression, and social inequality. This book is a short read, but not a light one. Drawing upon the author's life experiences and observations of society, Virapo is drenched with raw emotion and a dose of fiery passion. Virapo is a bitter cry out for truth, honesty, fairness and justice.
What does "virapo" mean exactly? It is a combination of the Ukrainian word for "belief", which transliterated is "vira", and the first two letters of "poem". In a way, the Virapo volumes are a series of "belief poems", but what this phrase means or implicates is left entirely up to the reader.
Available on Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/Virapo-Vol-I-Ivan-Samokish-ebook/dp/B0764HX677