Notes About The Poem
A best friend predicts that a bipolar, but brilliant, young woman's rage and angst one day will transform into her personal and new Golden Age...
Rage
Your rage's a fury that's all pain,
blight, and a plague of blood-red rain;
as though the fearful will of God,
and Sovran that one dares not trod
on, you're a wrath which raises Cain!
And like a thunderous, loud peal,
by a thunderclap we all can feel,
your explosive temper blasts our coasts,
destroying all that we love most,
and forcing us to shrink and kneel.
A violent and baneful squall,
you bode misfortune for us all;
and oh, woe! Like a perfect storm,
you're deadlier than just the norm;
and worse than pride before a fall.
Ah, but behold! Your blood-red rage
now is transformed by God's writ page:
for though your life's one of hopelessness,
you are still a work in progress
which will usher in a Golden Age!
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