Raging the Primal Flame
by Anthony G. Bernstein © 2008
Rage does stand between reason and the primal flame,
Locked in futile combat with the thunder-lord of air.
By fury's dripping sword, wielded with madness and grace,
He conjures a blood-gale to stain the hands of god,
Shreds the gushing sky to midnight confetti,
Drains our milky heavens sawdust dry.
With infernal grace -
rage does storm the bloodshot years
cleaving the ages.
Release havoc's ambassadors.
Let them roar hemlock and shadow
down the thirsty fog of history.
Loose the architects of lunacy.
Let them throw wholesale slaughter to slather the world
with the shiny gore of a thousand victorious armies,
for none shall win the wounded day.
Such vainglory seeks the truant Seraphim locked in flight,
to be scrolled upon the surface of the raging winds.