Leon Enriquez Poet Quatrain

Violence

There is a pulse
Of fear and dread
Where mad impulse
Feeds unafraid.


There is a sting
Of violent times
When madness strings
Such dreadful chimes.


There is a surge
Of hatred here
Where pain can urge
A senseless fear.


There is a pain
Deeper than fear
That comes to stain
Good people near.


There is a streak
Of intent vile
That cowards peak
In caustic bile.


There is a cloak
Violent men wear
In cruel strokes
That rip and tear.


There is no sense
In lame killings
To suit the tense
Of mad beings.


There's nothing pure
In the mad spree
That claims to cure
In mad frenzy.


Violence truly
Can never ease
What ego sees
In lack of peace.




Leon Enriquez
22 February 2015
Singapore

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