Contain It

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
contain my rage...

Submitted: October 17, 2013

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Submitted: October 17, 2013

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It burns 

Dry as death, the deep-red vortex

Turns stem, leaf, and bark to ash, and 

Suffocates the very air. 

Though the rains fall 

They are powerless in the wake 

Of the deathbringer's roar. 

 

He stands at the brink of immolation 

In awe of the maelstrom of destruction 

As he falls to his knees, his tears are not 

Of sadness, but of happiness, because now

The slate will be wiped clean, and the world 

Formed anew for him to shape. 

 

As the flame clears, the winds howl through the

Dead trunks in the ground, and his jubilation is

Cut short by a peculiarity; odd organic shapes 

Float through the air, and the green shoots of life 

Are emerging from the scorched earth. 

 

He rises once again, to examine these growths 

Only to discover that they are the beginnings of life anew;

His echoes of his frustration roll through the barren 

Forests and rolling hills, and the Earth, in all its splendor,

Does not hear his plea. 


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