Type: Rage

I justify,

    People say that certain types of art is merely for those who hate, one thing or another. Like Post-Hardcore or Melodic Death Metal for example, but I find this untrue. Those two genres at least, and most probably all others, are riddled with musicians whose art is conducive to positivity, even though there is anger in the voice and tone of the music.

     It is this that rings true in me, that rage is justifiable. In certain moments if I had not been filled with the power of hatred my courage would have faltered. What I mean is this, that there are things in this world that one can and should hate. Take rape for example and on top of that rape culture and victim blaming. Sex trafficking, greed in most all it's carnivorous and apathetic forms. War, the death of children due to... Napalm, dismemberment via land mines or stray fire.

    It all depends what you believe in that imbues the rage, but it is how you life your values / morals that finds you justified in rage. A person of any religion can stand by and watch people tortured unto dying, but if they uphold the values of equality, rage must fill them at the sight! If not, they are overcome with lethargy and are nought but a drone of the first world's debt under greed society. Which is a sad state to find oneself in, I do know...

     Sadly, I have wounded more than a few hearts in my years. A few left so I must write for change! Here goes!

      Once there was a glass realm,Inside was held captive a heart,Each pulse by a single dream once came true,Love. Shattered by a lethargic corpse walking the earth to sate its lust,Appeased his pathetic throbbing between her legs,Beyond recognition beaten in a black ally drawn blue by police lights,Amidst the torment a riddle like beacon shone,A memory of a far off melody or perhaps a proverb from an ancient psalm...

    'This will not destroy you.'

    The quote died with the outstretch of the deviant's voice,'I'm cumming,'Thus ended the reverie of one who might have been dying,Back to a distraught reality where no vigilante happened by to disrupt her rape. Nine years and a broken heart later,A single mother raises a testament witness to her denial of surrender,Life found a way,The smile of a child mends the lonely as she passes by,A drop of hope in the sea of humanity,Rippling effect a torrent of the Rio Grande:She is power.

     Welcome to the rage of love.

In earnest anticipation of,
J