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Rage

of

Ottawa, ON, CA

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stepineferin@yahoo.com (Rage)


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WordEdge

by

Rage

Ah, with a knife,
with rounded edges,
I fall.
Of all the weapons
you would possess,
you use the one
that strikes me,
blugeons my heart
in insatiable throes.
That wordedge.
What it does
to my slumbering soul.
When in safety,
it curled into itself.
No longer fearful.
Back turned.
Most treacherous of enemies.
And in that most desperate,
and defensive of states,
you released him unto me.
Beaten,
through the passionate lips
of my lover.
Thrown down,
by those loving tones.
Cast aside,
by those,
once enamorous eyes.
My chest ripped open,
by words turned steel
as they fell onto me.

I was unsuspecting
in your sweetness,
of just how human you are.
I thought we were a miracle.
But miracles are a symptom of ignorance it seems...
And ignorant,
I am not....anymore.


Emily

by

Rage

I've always seen at times
the light has wavered
in many a heart.
And so,
in mine own heart,
the darkness has
overstepped it's bounds.
My love has wavered,
just as surely as love will
from time to time.
But there is no moving
such a love
from it's fixed mark
within my soul.
For unknowingly
you carry with you
all I am.
And to deny
my love for you
would be
to pull a knife
from a wound
which would not mend,
n'or heal
under times watchful eye.
You were born into a hateful time.
A hateful heart,
you rendered ill,
with the precise
and certain steely edge
of your life.
There was no ignoring
the sudden stab you brought;
proving me mortal
with your first gasping breath.

How beautifully you pulled my spirit
Back down below the clouds
we live so far under.
Death of the free soaring bird.
How loudly she fell,
thudding to the cold, hard ground.

But in the unraveling
of times tongue,
a fluent speech was formed
between us.
You surely wrapped your fingers
'round my soul.
And by and by,
at times your tugs;
they pull it rather harshly.
But they are pulling it
with heavy sighs
from the rugged earth
that it was buried in.

And through my chaos,
I have seen,
my light has wavered,
just has yours.
But there is no denying,
what you have done.
There is no question
of my love.
You, fair child,
who is me.
You have pulled,
through your unknowing ways,
my every aspect closer together.
You,
with my laugh,
my eyes,
my smile.
You,
who loves as I love.
You who mimic,
through anger and joy.
You,
who knows no bounds for life.

When you were born into this world,
you brought with you the lives of two.
A daughter; my sweet angel,
and a mother that will always love you.


Penance

by

Rage



So this is what it feels like.
The pinnacle of life,
Is upon your knees,
With the world swirling around you
As the pain slowly enters your veins,
Pulsing,
Like the blood from your knees.
Cut and bruised
From the point of a forlorn beggar,
Pleading for a forgiving word,
Against the streaming wind,
The harsh storm of snow
And ice that flurries around your head,
And settles on your heart.
I am nothing,
I am nothing with these wounds abounding me.
I am nothing,
Please forgive me
For my violent sobs_.
Please forgive me for my sadness.
Please forgive me for leaning my weight upon you,
So called pillar.
This is the world as we know it.
So sad,
So angry,
Sad for our anger,
And angry at our sadness_.
How I've wept for you,
Long lost love,
In the gales that have forced us to succumb.
How I've cried for you,
Beautiful misty eyed dream.
How closely I once knew you_..
How cold it is here,
Outside the warmth of your redeeming light.
How sorry I am for my eternal human faults.
My errors have rendered me to this_..
To now_.
To dead__..No longer with the shining of the sun.
Not even will the stars shine upon me now_.as I peel the skin from my ever thickening wounds_..
I have never before felt my knees.
It seems now,
I have found their purpose.
I bow down.
I bow down to the great forces before me.
Above me, within me_..
I am no match to life.
I am no vessel for its power.
I cannot match the relentless punishment of life,
With wings that I never did see_.
I cannot walk on the eroding earth.
I am not immortal.
I am old.
I am tired.
And I am ready for that eternal sleep.
I have nothing,
Want nothing,
Am nothing__a much smaller being than the thing I feared most.
I am worse than my own fear would have made me realize.
I despise for my anger,
I plead for forgiveness .
In my belief,
You,
Oh sickening life,
Dark god,
Soul consuming corruption,
I cannot fight you.
I cannot fight you anymore___.
In my leave,
May god have mercy upon every force that has crippled me.
May hell have no boundaries to its fury__

Hate has never felt so kind.


The Scorpio

by

Rage

When in the variations of my day to day,
there seems to be not one thing within me,
that stays the same.
And all I want to do,
is go home.
Some imaginary concept I created long ago.
Whatever place that is,
it is not literal in it's meaning.
It is some familiar longing,
some long lost sense,
that once upon a time,
I was so close to
I could have breathed it in.
I could have almost felt it;
Almost tasted it.
But I,
never really remembering that I've had it.

Perhaps it is that dream of solitude,
of simplicity,
that I am somehow trying to express....
It is afterall,
what I struggle for,
what I strive for,
with every challenge,
every concept intercepted by my mind's eye.
All lead along that lusting, longing,
mournful state of mind
I call my path.

Every wall and barrier,
every obstacle put out externally,
nothing but a symptom
of the true battle.....

The intrepid, indefinite war against myself....

So far gone am I,
into the casualties of my own mind.
I am complete in my complications,
and thorough in my strategies,
to oppose,
dismantle,
injure,
and destroy,
the soul that lies at the other end
of my ego-ridden self.

Too proud to lay my anger down,
too tough to be defeated.
Too stubborn to find compromise,
too young to settle,
and too old to care enough.
Worn out,
with all the warfare waged.
And in the end,
I fear to no evail.

If I could somehow find the clarity,
and the patience,
to learn from my own wisdom,
what a noble and admirable adversary I would make,
in all the later years of my life.

But this requires an understanding
I do not seem to have.
And a faith on which,
I feel I can no longer stand.

Hope,
is soft and open in it's nature,
once you've grasped hold of it.

But hard and horrid in it's pursuit.

Unwaveringly,
a sister of my own self.

Stephanie Ford

The Binding Of A Blue-Book World

by

Rage


I envision the hallows and caverns of my mind,
as cluttered and mazed,
as the jumbled boxes I've been storing
in far off unfamiliar places,
and in a state of confusion and haze,
as greatly so as my memories have been.
And I guess I expected fairness,
along with all the other things I never had.
To graciously await me in my future-gone.
And all I find are more and more trees
among the underbrush.
(I wish I'd learned to climb when I was more willing and able to fall.)
And it's been a long time
since I've felt worthy of using my pen.
For my paper is worthy of existence,
and nothing less.
And the only place where all my colours would appear.
For all to see.
And for once that "all" is including me.
I'm grateful that this time allows me,
Without exertion or limitation,
To stand with substantial weight,
For no other reason than the fact that
I am an individual.
and there would be no questioning one's way around it.
It is my right.
It is my freedom.
And I subside to no one within these pages.
And no one here will ever subside to me.

Failure

by

Rage



Ah, to what majestic heights we fly,
when in the end we fall.
Pushing with promise and conviction,
we rise to soar.
With such determination
we beat our wings
against the moving winds.
How cruel,
the extent of our achievements
when certainty becomes too heavy
for our frail will.
And broken,
we plummet.
Skies and dreams and clouds behind us.
That dark abyss of shame below us.
That gulf of watery disappointment,
wherein we drown.

Failure.
Ever relentless failure.
The only process that never weakens.
Where every breath of water,
just follows the first.

Going Home

by

Rage


I watched the birds
float in circles
on the wind.
Following each other.
Some too high,
some too low.
I thought they'd never stop.
They were dancing and playing.
I realized,
that birds really do
love flying
as much as we think we would.
But as I watched,
one by one they left.
Some followed others,
the rest went their own way.
And I was left staring
at an empty space
in the air.
I realized in their
intermittent mingling.
It is inevitable
that the dancing,
the flying must end.
And one must always
find their way home.
Whether in lonliness,
or in company,
the ending must occur.
We can't always stay
a part of what we love.
For every magical playtime
in the sky,
their is shivering in the dark,
and lonliness upon the earth.
There is work to be done.
And there is a time for rest,
and transition.

A time
For going home...

Stephanie Ford

The Song Of The Caged Bird

by

Rage

It is with gloomy state,
and gentle realization,
that I prowl
out of my mind
onto page.
And it is with rhythmic
fine-tuned reason,
eye and ear,
mind alerted
from it's dreamy state,
that I realize
that the grandiose
of experience and life,
is nothing more than
subtle, quiet detail,
merging so close together
as to be one
pulsating, lively picture.
It writhes into my senses
with such unkindly impertinence
as to embellish my hopes
into such a bloated,
loathing, wanton,
lingering state of reality.
It is almost as if my ways;
me,
was created as
the tool of my own torment.
And such a sorry creature am I,
that I can find no room
for more sympathy, love
and kindness for any other,
than for myself.
I am drowning in self-pity.
Never numb to my pain,
n'or blind to my hurt.
Rather I have chosen to remain
sober and wide-eyed
to all that I have suffered.
And maybe I have been wrong.
Maybe I am wrong.
For although much has come
from this eternal awareness.
The awareness of hardship itself,
scorches, seethes and burns
so heartily into my days
it has disabled
the life it has created.
And I am now cursed
to live a life who's highest ambition
is to question it's sub-existence
to any other life.
A life who's time wears thin
as the smoldering embers cool
where once a flame was lit.
A life who was cursed
from the very beginning
with a nature so dissonant
to the world it must live in.
A life given greatness,
only to live eternally
with that greatness masked in,
and the world out.
There will never be a merging
of this soul into it's kind.
Free-bird I am deemed.
Caged-bird I am

Momentum And The Beauty Fall

by

Rage


In my grasping,
I reach out for any one thing
that I can find.
There is no difference
in these eyes.
No life falls short
across this path.
The momentum of life
pushes some,
pulls others,
and at times,
passes us by
as if forgetful
of our presence.
The eternal human struggle,
in our triumphs,
and our failures....
I could not ask
for more than that.
Not from myself,
n'or from any other.
For that is where the beauty lies.
I think the only
one true failure we can make,
is to refuse to ride the waves
when life beckons.
To refuse to move,
whether up or down,
is the only mistake there is.
No time is wasted time
if you were there to spend it.
There is more value in those regretful moments
than in any others.
How far down have you looked?
How can we truly know ourselves,
if we deny ourselves that view of depth.
There is so much more
than what we allow ourselves to see.
What is that fear of losing our height,
our stature.
Sometimes I want nothing more
than to leap,
and fall into myself......

Love

by

Rage

I resign from where I once stood.

Life is so much simpler,
but only,
when I am looking
at you....

Calling A Spade A Spade....

by

Rage

It is with love I send this.

To hide away,
to deny,
is to let a child
sway away in a crowd
and never return.

I have never wanted it this way.

But here,
together,
we will stay.
The memory binded for all time.

The world falls upon us in such strange ways.

Love..Hate...Acceptance...Unrequited in our time.

Solitary tree.

The one that will alway stay.
The one that will always be.
Until powers beyond our control,
rip you away from the earth,
or I from the garden I tend you in...

It takes the ever extensive breath out,
that neverending gasp,
to know....

I am grateful,
as I scream.

The loss reaches depths
I haven't felt
since night fell
so many years ago,
and I walked out onto the grass...

Fall

by

Rage

She righted herself
and pushed her chin up.
Defying the weight.
Little green apples strewn about,
piled against the bark of the tree.
She stood,
sun blazing,
white light speckled across the green.
Life was climbing all over her.
Chasing her down...
4 nights she lay hungry,
and never woke up from the dream.
The air was so easy to breathe,
cool in;
clean.
Not at all the air you smell before death.
Yet,
summer was dying.
And she was left perplexed,
left wanting more.

and promise is a four-letter word...

Unfinished

by

Rage

Tear it away.
These pages Iím wrapped so tightly in.

Iím burning to run,
Set rhythmic ache to the pulse.
Finding new roads to kill;
Sweet & damp,
Gasping under the stars.

If I were to plummet
Into the cool freezing of the atlantic,
Would I find the thing Iíve long been looking for?
Lodged between the rocks I fear
And the glass I am,
Worn from years of wear against the skin,
tossed long and hard amidst the waves.
Pulled far below the light of the sun
by the heavy undertow.

This brittle thing
Rendered smooth and solid
When trapped under miles of salty water.

Fall

by

Rage

She righted herself
and pushed her chin up.
Defying the weight.
Little green apples strewn about,
piled against the bark of the tree.
She stood,
sun blazing,
white light speckled across the green.
Life was climbing all over her.
Chasing her down...
4 nights she lay hungry,
and never woke up from the dream.
The air was so easy to breathe,
cool in;
clean.
Not at all the air you smell before death.
Yet,
summer was dying.
And she was left perplexed,
left wanting more.

and promise is a four-letter word...

Unfinished

by

Rage

Tear it away.
These pages Iím wrapped so tightly in.

Iím burning to run,
Set rhythmic ache to the pulse.
Finding new roads to kill;
Sweet & damp,
Gasping under the stars.

If I were to plummet
Into the cool freezing of the atlantic,
Would I find the thing Iíve long been looking for?
Lodged between the rocks I fear
And the glass I am,
Worn from years of wear against the skin,
tossed long and hard amidst the waves.
Pulled far below the light of the sun
by the heavy undertow.

This brittle thing
Rendered smooth and solid
When trapped under miles of salty water.