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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Psychology · #1991188
a poem about controlling carnage.

The anger and fear
and anger and destruction
and hatred and loathing,
and darkness and violence,
and anger and anger...
sit within my chest.

A ball of rage and sadness ablaze,
Occupies my emotions entirely,
the blind white fury and terror,
and tears and shame.
So hot, it occupies a space,
the space between control and chaos,
and decimates them both...
This is its evil reason and horrific purpose.

It burns so hot and so fierce.
I feel it penetrate my mind and chest,
And burn out of my conscience,
And flare at the slightest aggravation.
It knows not itself or the extent of its power,
But knows it's potential for ruination,
And demolition and obliteration,
Its supreme and unrivalled domination...
It knows its and my mind's desolation.

It's strength is vast,
It's destruction is...devastating.
My soul is being burned alive by my spirit.
I can feel it writhing in agony,
and screaming with pain.
The devil is consuming me...
The devil; my mind.

I concentrate and inhale deep,
And focus on my body and breathing.
I feel the floor beneath me,
And feel the air around me.
I feel the thoughts within me...
And watch them tear me to pieces.

But as I breathe deeper,
Slower and deeper and calmer,
I see cool air flow,
flow and flow around the ball,
And sooth it and caress it.
I allow the ball to live and burn,...
I give it space and room to exist.

The cool air is cool blue,
And a blue man is given birth from it.
The blue man stands near the ball.
His features are expressionless,
Expressionless but calm and formidable.
He holds the ball in the palm of his hand...
His palm is open, and he holds the flame.

He controls the ball,
He feels it and sees it.
He knows the ball and respects its malevolent magnificence.
He sculpts its supreme strength...
He forgives but favours its ferocious nature.

He can choose to use the ball,
Or he can leave it alone.
He can calm it down,
Or he can raise it up.
He knows the ball is a weapon.
He can use the ball as a weapon...
But he knows it is more powerful if not used.

The blue man is familiar with the ball.
He knows the ball,
He is intimate with its nature.
But only he can harness or understand it...
Only he can grasp it and exert its intense capacity.

He holds the flame and knows its savagery.
The flame is his and it knows his mastery.
He is the flame. He is inside me with the ball.
He controls the ball of fire and I control him.
He is me and I am he; we are the ball...
We are one and we are three.

© Copyright 2014 Michael Baauer (nefelibata at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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