Fits of Rage
Fits of rage.
The pivotal moment when the heart is torn and the mind flashes red
the eyes drip salty tears
the lips that once stole your breath now taste bitter with blood.
It is when the rage subsides that
the broken shards of a world once adored crack beneath my feet with every step.
It is the silent anger that is to be feared,
for it lies within the soul,
simmering with rationality.
It is a constant sinking in the heart,
a dry eye but a stormy mind.
It is the ashes of the flame
that burned too fervent to survive
It is the whisper on your lips
and the shouts on your tongue.
👁 9💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.