​There is immediacy
to rage,
straining the bounds
of  my decorum.
I dare not turn aside,
or worse yet, turn inside.
Where it will eat away,
and devour me whole.
Separating the true
Holy Trinity,
Mind, Body, and Soul.
Each disavowing
the actions of the other
Abstractions standing by,
observing dispassionately
as the concrete melts.
So I give vent,
raging against
a status quo
quid pro quo,
and listen to
the fading echoes
of my silent screams.
As waves  of black wings
descend to pick
the bones,
in lurid dreams.
So real it seems.
Even the feeling
of deja vu
creeping obliquely
into my mood.
Exhaustion of a moment
sweat pouring down
my brow
like condensation
on a window pane.
I breathe deeply
in the gathering
Having extinguished
my spiritual riot.
M. Zane McClellan
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