PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

What is it that inspires this rage?
This curious need to bruise and rupture?
Are we, for all our words, locked in
A cage,
Like unselfconscious animals,
Waiting to strike, to rip and rend and feed
On vanquished still-quivering flesh?
At any juncture?

And do we know, do we know
Just what we do?
Have we a clue?
In any way, shape, or form
Can we gain redemption
From this red mist that diffuses
Out the bloody marshes of
Our soul?

I cannot fight it,
I suppose I owe it everything,
And so I drop the pen,
And pick up the sword:
Ready to die for nothing at all.