with the sharp
and shocking rage
of anger from
a youthful age
it seems to stream
without a scheme
and fill the space
with hate and hurt
and tears and fears
and wicked waste...
what of the pain
and pointless stain
it leaves on hearts
and downcast face
of old and young
in hollow haste...
what of this time
that holds no rhyme
or laughter light
and sunshine bright
but rather rushes
darkest death
and leaves it's searing
smearing breath...
