Smoldering

Strike up the band

hit the spotlight

the world is a stage.

All you see

is what I allow

the work of a clever mage.

What left standing

a loss for words

behold a lust for rage.

As expression betrays

its truest intent

an animal pacing in a cage.

And last bastions

to feeling content

fail cries to engage.

All that’s left

what they say

is to somehow turn the page.

But then where shall go

and what be done

with a mass of quiet rage?

How temptation mocks

a push unkind

to not gently turn the page

on a rage not my own

but mine it is

indeed a rage.

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