Way To Channel My Rage
© Surazeus
2019 01 09
How strange that fearful people once believed
angels and devils were real powerful beings
invisible to focus of our eyes
yet forces fighting to control our fate.
Slouching listless at the table near dawn,
he watches people getting off the bus
outside the window of the coffee shop
where people search for their forgotten dreams.
People who play golf are evil from wealth
so we should confiscate every golf course
and turn them into farming villages
where homeless people can grow food to eat.
Legends of magic wands that expel fire
are based on the first guns as metal tubes
made in China by Wizards of The Way
who killed expert swordsmen with silver bullets.
What terrible slaughter those guns have caused
as billions of angry boys with hard guns
shot each other dead in thousands of wars
that soaked the Earth red with ambitious blood.
The sudden absence of the child I love
tears my heart with sharp anguish at her loss
which paralyzes my soul through despair
so I care no more if I live or die.
When my ancestor in England despaired
at loss of her children to brutal war
she felt terrible anguish in her heart
that lead her to believe cruel devils are real.
So now I understand how she could feel
presence of devils her eyes could not see,
fooled by horror to believe they were real,
haunted by spirit of the child she lost.
The boy who asked my daughter on a date
became enraged when she rejected him,
so he brought a gun to school and shot her,
piercing her heart with bullet of his hate.
I see his father now in plaid tan shorts
going with his banker friends to play golf,
so I want to follow him to green hills
and seek revenge, but I will stay here calm.
Once justice would require that I wield sword
to kill his son in revenge for his crime,
but we Americans are civilized
and live according to the rule of law.
His son was sentenced to prison for life,
but he goes out and plays golf with his friends
while I teach classes in philosophy
to students who feel no anguish of loss.
Though now I feel tempted to buy a gun
and shoot him in the head while he plays golf,
yet that would not bring my daughter to life
so I will bury fierce rage in my heart.
Yet buried rage will fester into hate
that would blind me to the beauties of life,
for even in the blackness of harsh grief
I feel pleasure that I am still alive.
I must find some way to channel my rage,
and convert blinding hate into fierce love
so I can transcend tension of despair
and grow stronger from the anger I feel.
Stepping outside to stand on busy street,
he strums guitar and improvises song
expressing painful anguish of his heart
with love for children who play in the fields.
© Surazeus
2019 01 09
How strange that fearful people once believed
angels and devils were real powerful beings
invisible to focus of our eyes
yet forces fighting to control our fate.
Slouching listless at the table near dawn,
he watches people getting off the bus
outside the window of the coffee shop
where people search for their forgotten dreams.
People who play golf are evil from wealth
so we should confiscate every golf course
and turn them into farming villages
where homeless people can grow food to eat.
Legends of magic wands that expel fire
are based on the first guns as metal tubes
made in China by Wizards of The Way
who killed expert swordsmen with silver bullets.
What terrible slaughter those guns have caused
as billions of angry boys with hard guns
shot each other dead in thousands of wars
that soaked the Earth red with ambitious blood.
The sudden absence of the child I love
tears my heart with sharp anguish at her loss
which paralyzes my soul through despair
so I care no more if I live or die.
When my ancestor in England despaired
at loss of her children to brutal war
she felt terrible anguish in her heart
that lead her to believe cruel devils are real.
So now I understand how she could feel
presence of devils her eyes could not see,
fooled by horror to believe they were real,
haunted by spirit of the child she lost.
The boy who asked my daughter on a date
became enraged when she rejected him,
so he brought a gun to school and shot her,
piercing her heart with bullet of his hate.
I see his father now in plaid tan shorts
going with his banker friends to play golf,
so I want to follow him to green hills
and seek revenge, but I will stay here calm.
Once justice would require that I wield sword
to kill his son in revenge for his crime,
but we Americans are civilized
and live according to the rule of law.
His son was sentenced to prison for life,
but he goes out and plays golf with his friends
while I teach classes in philosophy
to students who feel no anguish of loss.
Though now I feel tempted to buy a gun
and shoot him in the head while he plays golf,
yet that would not bring my daughter to life
so I will bury fierce rage in my heart.
Yet buried rage will fester into hate
that would blind me to the beauties of life,
for even in the blackness of harsh grief
I feel pleasure that I am still alive.
I must find some way to channel my rage,
and convert blinding hate into fierce love
so I can transcend tension of despair
and grow stronger from the anger I feel.
Stepping outside to stand on busy street,
he strums guitar and improvises song
expressing painful anguish of his heart
with love for children who play in the fields.
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