The Rage of Years Gone By

Rage sits in me like a stone falling down ever so slowly to the bottom of my soul.
Cold and still burning me, my rage never goes away.

Like the prophets beg for us, breathe in, calm out.
But really, hold it back. Nobody wants your pain, nobody wants to see your suffering. That's all for show really. 

The breathe in, calm out, rage gone bit. That's just dogma designed to silence you for the benefit of others comfort. 

Smile, make it look smooth on the outside. Everything's ok. 

For show. 

But it's not. It's still there burning me alive, slowly with a white hot heat that never really fades. 
It's what keeps me so warm at night.

Some part of me won't let it go. I won't conform to this banal existence of polite complacency. Smile, everyone's watching. 

Some part of me holds on to my rage as a reminder not to let those things happen again, not to be fooled, again. 
But it doesn't work like it's supposed to; it ends up the other way mechanistically, yet it's part of who I am. It's embedded in my soul. 

So I keep looking. 
Must find pearls.


7/15©Danya Mosgofian