Through the Carnage

I Rage On, is another poem of mine from when I just started writing. It was the inspiration for this poem. Looking back, I see how far I've come. I hope you enjoy, but be warned, it's really massive.

I’ll Rage on through the Carnage

 

I’ll rage on through the carnage, the blood and the tears, through the guts that continue to bleed, the fear under the mud, the sum of a love that turned into obsession, the hate that became a profession, death’s lust of a lesson, the power that made this oppression, listening to the lessons of lesser devils that should go back to hell and level with the malevolent cowards, because we don’t want you here any more

Rage and carnage that boils through my all pain, inside my mind I fight for control again, fury that cuts through any sadness or depression, bury them along with my madness and pressure, lecture my imperfections in the cold temperature permafrosted ground textured prison of a world

 

Drying my tears with the flames of hatred, a pilot, a patriot, a matron of mental illness, fighting forever, free from forgiveness, a warrior willing to live this nightmare smeared with my blood, painted livid let the crimson be written on my obituary, literacy being the only thing literally keeping me alive as my pulse courses calling me mauling me physically, write my story on the pages, survive until I’m a sage that will remain faded on the threads of history, let me stain my memory on that fabric, in my own ecstatic sociopathic madness, let the people remember me and have at it, become savage through the static, until I faze and blaze out in the glory of the unholy erratic like a maniac, disappear into the attic until the house is run down and demolished, let me frolic like magic in your closet, abolish the idea of being modest, let your home be haunted by my visage, think of it as a privilege

I rage on, forge on, devoid of human love, in the pain I glow enkindled radiant with hatred, widowed with satan, the carnage, a devil spawn strong enough to bond with my suffering wielding my feelings like a weapon until nothing can stand between  me and the lifeless corpse of humanity, inception, my day dreams and destiny, free breath in my own insanity, high off the fumes of knowledge abolished, and spit out humility like the deceptive bullets of the military, thrown from your home like garbage, fertility of reality to grow my seed of freedom to be harvested, my eggs of opinion hatching in the heat of relapse, my cells behind the bars to char in the hellfire of my own limbo like a pyre, a symbol of my mishaps, stars that yell the words of god and fell so far that I could never make a wish upon them, courteously courageously cathartic, instantaneously infectious is a life in the flames, neglected disrespected correct me until I become just another strange soldier to smoulder in torture and become older setting fire to the order, the folder of time, this lie of mine, the rules are meant to be broken, some words have to be spoken

 

I’ll rage on through the evil people with intent to kill, I am thrilled to spill the guts until my blade rusts like the hearts of the soulless, focus on the coldest of caresses for the men that took my friends, and send them alone into a chamber, a throne of empty silence for their labours, kept quiet in the dark, like I was, without a saviour to save you

 Through those who think they are better than me, your pathetic beliefs of false hierarchy just aren’t real to me, so martyr me and murder me curdling the blood inside of me until I’m just a piece of rubber, get your fill until you’re down and under and meet my fallen brothers

Through the unacceptable times my soul has been wrecked to s**t, I will not admit your victory, I stand evicted through my misery, I’m sick of being your enemy, trying to be friendly to only come closer to the ending, rending my flesh depending on whether or not I please you

As if I need to, to live through your servitude, lower than you

 

Countless times people kicked me while I was down, I feel like I’m only around to fill you with the sound of self-love, pride, so proud that you think the very clouds and ground will obey you now

If I were to say so myself, I’d be a monster, little else

For the ones who made an example out of someone who didn’t make the mistake, he was raked over the coals for

Do I look back? Never

Till the day the fingers of these hands are severed and my tongue, my voice has been dismembered, and I can’t write a single letter

I rage on through the carnage, ill-founded as I am, I am but a man standing against an army, it is a simple thing to snuff out a spark, or to harm me

 

I’ll rage on through the carnage of this frigid world, where cold people with steel hearts beat down on each other, in a frozen wasteland of despair, without love or mercy. Yet they still ask for a helping hand after all the pain they’ve caused

 

I’m unable to accept a world that is full of hate, which fuels my own hatred, creating a cycle of bloodshed and incineration of all other creation that will always continue, red-hot thoughtlessness throttles on within you, models you to continue

I rage on through the carnage, the cycle, all suicidal

 

I walk through the hatred, my rage swallowing the pain. I’ve learned from this world of sorrow, inhaling the ashes, the effigy of tomorrow and now I’m going insane

I’ve been stained by the graffiti on my body like burn marks from candlesticks in the dark, that light is the only thing I can see in front of me, the savagery, is the thing that burns within me the most

The wax drips from my eyes so that others can see, the candle wick strangles me, the flames eat my oxygen, choking on my own optimism, and I’ve gone quiet in the riot again, sirens crying as the fire scalds pupils under my closed eyelids

I don't want to be here anymore. I cannot heal my broken soul, some weapons are better uncontrolled

In my padded cell, my luxurious immaterial ethereal fantasy of hope keeps my lit candle of a mind from being blown out in the breeze of empty darkness, left blind

Running for a safety I don’t know how to find

My candlewick flickering with wickedness, but when the light goes out, I’m left behind, convicted insidiously whisperless, a sadness-like sickness I cannot handle, I feel molested, mangled

 I rage on through the carnage, baking and breaking under the weight of the flames again through the solemn silence, sodomy of human beliefs and freedom of speech, no way to win when I’m going dim, coping with being sliced open repeatedly, hoping somebody will hear me screaming

Fearing the imagination that created a story of amalgamations with a standing ovation, the people clap for an encore, smiling with their shadow hearts and dead minds as they force me to battle, but I’m burnt-out in the smoke, they ask for more light, left behind by my own damn pride, they bask in another flash a toast to capturing my soul in the rapture, infernally eternal is the inferno, controlling blackening my glow with disaster, and masking my desires mastering my passions and hope, broken, collapsing my fire is quiet out in the open, my roasted hope bargained unpardoned, but they are consumed by their own darkness and they don’t shed light on my situation, only petition my continued imprisonment and harvested, I am not a warm person, I  have my own hardness, I am not a fireplace there to comfort you for your petty problems of self-loving cold-heartedness while I eat away burning through my suffering regardless

I couldn’t give a s**t about fixing your mistakes when I’m about to break, you broke so many, yet think you’ll go to heaven

These flames hurt, they liquefy my waxy insides, petrified inside these stones walls I try to hide behind your brick wall of lies, I know you don’t want me to be alive, you never listened to my cries, waiting for the embers to die

I realize the smoke signals won’t help me escape limbo, and will not extinguish this pain, will not free from this plane, will not help me remain

I want to burn down this wicker world like a lit match on gas 

Again and again

Clean the slate of the fire, rend and extinguish the liars

I want everyone to live in a world where we can plainly see the evils of humanity, our own pain, rather than remain the same, live for the slain, so I continue to burn, hoping to incinerate my enemies through the inferno of my words, and yearn to have them face their turn to face the furious flames, and to feel my heated hate in this cruel place all the same

But would that change anything?

Through the carnage, I would still be alone

Through the carnage, I would go cold among the bones of the battle-hardened murderers as you have

Through the carnage, the darkness would own my soul too, as I’m snuffed out helpless, alone

Through the carnage, I’d be feeding the beast the suffering, the abuse done to me, unendingly, objectively becoming the torturer, creating more hopelessness, morbidly reinforcing force with no remorse scared and screaming until my throats hoarse

Through the carnage, I would no longer shed light, I’d spread emptiness, barren, blackened, night, going out with nothing but spite

Through the carnage, my heart would be charcoal like yours, burning through my soul until my virtue would be no more, with my core up in smoke, the words I spoke would smother my brothers

Like you, I would have gone out with a bang

Like you, I’d be more flame, more explosion, and more withering inferno than man

Through the carnage, there would be nothing left, no respect, an unkempt wreck crushed under the dress shoed step of the world walking over me

Other than my shame and self-hatred, a narcissistic affliction on others, their blame and neglect, my pain what would I have but black silence? Disrespect

Smothered by it, ashes from my passing countlessly relapsing in and rehashing the moment my spirit collapsed in sapping the soul from my hold, stone cold, a shadow, a lich committed to relinquish its pittance, without any kindred, snuffing the resistance

Through the carnage, I’d be a darkness of my own

Through the carnage, the dim shadow upon us would be less forgiving than six feet under, the rain before the thunder, the blood before the body crumbles and the heart stops rumbling, and the mind stumbling, fumbling, silent, still, dead, cold in its slumber

Through the carnage, I’d burn down the remains of my home, and no person would have known we existed

Through the carnage, I’d tarnish my dreams, my loved ones, my memories, disregarding every bite of hope that I’ve known

I’d be just as twisted as the atrocities committed

And through the carnage, I’m not ready to swallow my pride

And through all my carnage, you people stayed by my side, warming my heart, drying my eyes

Because my carnage is cathartic within the homicidal darkness and all sharpness of the metal teeth, the demise of the heartless through their soulless eyes

And through my carnage, I am not a loner anymore, I’m not the only one harvested, the blood fills my core with vigour, I’m more than a torch, more than a figure, this is what live for with every ligament I’m no figment of your imagination, not a limerick, I’m a guiding fire of creation perspiring scorching this wooden fortress latent, patiently livid, melting the frigid with my own form of forgiveness

Through my carnage, my struggling, I’ve been heard, a Firebird, a surge of power merged with a flurry of words, learning, burning, a purging fury returning spurning the shadows and will continue to burn until it’s my turn to say goodbye, and the reappearing light consumes the nightmares,

And through my suffering, I’m still alive, and through all my carnage, I’m melting the madness inside the minds of tomorrow like a pyre of gas lighters, I’m righteously alive burning bright in the nighttime lighting the way to today through the fields of yesterday ignited

Fighting, I’ve become the spark, the ignition of a light that set the fire, the candle in the dark, aspiring to make an inferno, a burn mark, branded conflagrant, char turning a bad situation into a new nation of a world

Strengthened through the carnage, I free myself from the bondage of heartless hate mongers

Through the carnage, a warrior is born, through the carnage I’m rekindled, feel my scorn, although the wind outside the window may be a storm, by suffering hope is born, and this light in the darkness is all that I’ve ever known, roaming this land with warm hands, my strength, my command, the fires of a man

This fury, this madness, this love, this brotherhood is the fire that forged my soul, through the carnage, I’ve become something more, with the others, through the carnage, I am whole

Through the carnage, through heat like the sun, warm as the morn, the fire in my heart is restarted, feeling every beat as I breathe in the meat of the moment my life reopened, I am reignited, rewritten, reunited, reborn, reawoken, requited, rekindled, relighted

In the flight of my crisis, through my carnage, I'm enlightened, I move onward, following tomorrow’s path I am no longer hollow, not spiteful, but empty of sorrow, making my way forward, right into the flames, into the heat of the moment

 

Author's Note

Through pain and suffering, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. It is not without purpose, it gives us purpose.

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.

Reviews

[Wayfaring stranger]

Sometime less is more . Too wordy and too chaotic. If you cut this in half and make visible strongest points and make them connected it will be more readable and enjoyable. I also miss magic in your words. By the,way if you write just for your self what's point to posting online . If you get negative reaction on your writing try find something positive in it. Cause there is always what should be improve. I find here on this Web sites. When you tell to people how they writing is great they always call you best friend. But when you tell them there is something not so great about they writing. You surely became they enemie. I am sure now I am your enemie.

[Gee]

Good morning, as the fella below said, sometimes less is more !!!
For me that was hard work with little enjoyment, the opposite of what reading should be. Saying that I m at be sun consciously jealous as I run out of steam very quickly when writing.

[wordman]

it is a great rant my friend,can we carry on through the carnage,,i wonder

[Davidgeo]

Why do classify things like this as a "poem"?

I'd be pretty shocked if anyone got through half of this. Not because people come to the table expecting poetry but are getting something else... but because that something else you provide is just plain bland. Reading this was like eating two pounds of plain dry white rice in a one sitting. Stop trying to be Cormac McCarthy... almost no one has that skill set... and you are certainly no exception.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Ok, I understand if your not happy with what I wrote and that's fine. But I generally write for myself, so that won't stop me from writing. If you have constructive feedback that's fine, and if this isn't your cup of tea, that's fine too, but I write for my own enjoyment, so don't hate me if I keep on writing poems like this better over time. That rice will get cooked eventually when I reach that level, hell I'll add some fried veggies in a few years. But it's still going to be 2 pounds of rice.

[Davidgeo]

If you have to keep saying "I write for myself" and "I very seldom reply to reviews"... it's a sign that you're probably full of s**t and lack self awareness.

So you have thin skin... that's not neccesarilly a bad thing. But pretending you don't have thin skin while clearly displaying the opposite disposition is kinda silly.

Good luck with all that.