Molten liquid hate
submerges his brain
boiling rage, caged,
inside the walls
of his lungs,
frustration,
drips on the floors
burning holes,
smoldering pain,
like blazing flames,
consume his life cells,
driving him insane
all day.
It fumes, screams,
incinerates,
smashing open
the fragile case
that holds it all
within.
Paranoia belies
understanding, lies
multiplies delusions,
spreading rabies
of a different kind,
in his spirit.
Spit drips from
the corner of his lips.
Hurt
strangles his insides,
choking
his blood supply,
taking him hostage
holding him
at it's mercy,
all the time.
Wild youth,
energy that's hostile
goes
into an overdrive.
A sick animal
gets ready to escape
run naked,
amok
out in the world.
Enemies he sees
all around,
petrified,
he crouches
on the ground,
ready to kill
avenge his kind,
fight shadows
to escape
fate and fly
beyond the reach
of humankind.
The terror
of being alive
haunts him
all the while
Is that a reason
enough
to kill or a lie?
Either way,
in his mind
existence is
enough provocation,
and justice to him,
has been denied.
Salvation on earth
seeks a damned soul,
a lonely life cries out
for someone's love,
a deranged mind
goes out of control,
drummed in hate
breaks free,
buried pain explodes
the heat
melts the chain
of self-control.
Desperation flares,
a nuclear fusion
of disdain
takes over his brain
an indiscriminate killer,
is born,
killing another young one,
a smoking gun stands,
ready to end
it's own tragic run.
No longer safe
the world waits,
like the inevitable
burial ground
for it's son.
An innocent soul
without hope,
twisted beyond
help, with
no tomorrows,
I see him
hurl himself
at the setting sun.
Finger
on the trigger,
he stares at the world,
blind to reason
no longer sure
if there's God
or a place for him
in Heaven.
I hear him speak,
stammer and silently cry,
the words come out
tired and heavy,
with a sense of hesitant
finality.
Breath...
push the poison away from the brain...
can somebody help me...
please...
don't let me disintegrate...
don't let me die...
don't let me go away
in the stream of a wind
in the whiff of a smoke
tell me please...
it's all an illusion
a deceptive vision
tell me
it's just a curse of my time,
tell me
it all just in my mind.
Frozen in time, they sit
watching in horror
as he squeezes the trigger.
A woman smiles,
tells me politely,
I've just watched
the cold-blooded rampage
of another teenage-killer
on TV.
\
Close
bmw, if you can see that i see too much you see too much too, my fair lady. :-))
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bmj,
You see too much. and that hurts you. This seeing waste of life, youth, and being helpless to help.
I dunno what to say...
this one is stark, and it hurts.
me,
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Raj, observation and experience can be two different things. I SEE things. I may not necessarily experience them all. My helplessness makes me sad. Our indifference makes me angry. Yet acceptance allows me to continue without going up in flames right this minute. :-)) As always, it's good to see you here. Thanks for taking the time. :-))
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My apologies if the latter part of my earlier comment sounds fliipant in the context of a strong poem that deals with a tragic and serious issue of our times.
I did not mean it that way at all.
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Big Mojo - another power-packed poem on our sad times; hey, dear friend, show me a happy poem of yours so I don't mention your name when they ask me: Name me one celebrity who doesn't celebrate happiness?
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