Rage

A churning rage,
Dangerous.
An eruption of epic proportions,
Peace it may bring.
A glorious unleashing of the beast within,
To let it roar, just once.
Giving in to the darkness.
But, what more?
Pain? Sorrow?
The regret of words uttered,
Unfettered, unretractable.
What to do with the rage?
Where to ground the spikes of burning currents,
Safely so it does no harm?
You want it to sear, but only briefly.
To hurt but only fleetingly.
Neither possible,
For control is fragile.
What to do?
What to do?

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