Whence Comes This Rage?

Whence comes this rage,
Its suctioning threads, reaching,
Yet daring not to touch this page,
Lest it loose upon it preaching?
Lurking, in the shadows does it wait,
Lingering, smoldering, incessantly feeding,
‘Till it receives the stoking fire of hate,
Bringing it ripe for breeding;
Evils. Fears. Loss. Tears. Death. Agony.
©1995 Roger W. Bodo