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Anger, rage, steps from passion, pressing

pure white lighting held in clenched fist

pushing, growing with each fresh wound.

Unchecked, vile to all whom it touches

kept in check, darkening once pure heart

breaking through in gesture and cruel word.

Yet not all rage inwards turned,  radiating

explosive though with dampened fuse lit

fragments of the iceberg’s jagged fractured face.

Forgotten, melting pieces, adrift and cold

surrounded by hundreds, even thousands more

yet filled with darkness, as though all alone.

Rage against injustice, ignorance, greed, hate

rage then, because they care not for another

the pain they caused, inflicting wounds so deep.

Perhaps in the rage, someone will hear and echo

ceasing the lies, spreading like flame unchecked

the  message of devastation which has spread.

Rage, be heard, choose to lead not be led.

Karen Quinn 2000


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