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