Wrath And The Love Of It Poem by Gary Diamond

Even with a belly full of good food.
Even miles away from the work day grind.
Even seven drinks to the wind.
A little thing is there
Clawing.

It has no teeth; it is no beast.
It slithers but it isn't a reptile, a snake.
It's the prisoner kept locked in the chest.
The emotions smothering the conscious mind.
Keeping what is pure, pure.
The dam, the only little victory.

Just when the mood is right is it time to strike.
The rage harnessed by years of laying there, dormant.
Whether you choose sharp tongue, rapier point or a clenched fist.
At least you chose something
Rather than a quivering stiff upper lip.

I've lost jobs
Friends
Family.
All because I wasn't scared to take back a piece of aching soul
From the rapist who wanted it all.
Although as a defense it may sound as a child
Remember that a child is indefinately pure
Rather than convolute
It'd rather speak out true, even when in the dark
Than remain as a broken tool.

How I wish I could release this pure, dark, evil wrath.
Everywhere and to everyone
Who ever crossed my path and forced me to stop.
Whomsoever moved into me because they didn't look.
Who swore and cursed without ever knowing who or what I was.
The false friends who screw and manipulate us like a puppet show.

How I want to be as dark and black as the devil.
I want to kill, to maim, to shout with the killing lust and rage.
To have an enemy, even a misunderstood one.
We're born to be this way.
I wouldn't be this way
You wouldn't either
If everyone else weren't.

Herein lies the problem.
We are each others catalyst
Each others knock-on effect.
A person is intelligent.
As a group an undifferentiated ego mass.
Only idiots can feel strong as they join together.
Only then can they as ten, challenge one.
How weak.
But no-one sees it this way.