A Rage Has Come

A Rage Has Come

 

It was simple out that day:

The sun,

The birds,

The cat that meant to catch them,

Or

Alternately to nap…

Simple.

I thought to walk to the bank and,

Stepping out the door,

Stopped.

The very air was taut.

As if existence were a cable too tightly wound,

A balloon too filled and ready

For bursting at a touch.

I moved through it slowly,

Meaning not to shatter,

But too late:

Something was here -

 

A rage had come.

 

It meant to rend,

Its meaning clear,

It meant to rend.

Where had it come from?

Who had called it forth?

In the face of its furor

Such questions were meaningless,

It meant to rend.

 

It did not.

Here it was,

A blackness invisible

Blotting out all.

And doing nothing.

It was palpable and present.

It was waiting.

I looked around,

All was frozen –

Birds, cat, traffic,

Time was suspended,

And the thing waited.

 

It waited for me.

 

Not as prisoner, no.

Not as prey,

It waited for directive.

 

What was this thing to me?

Had I called it forth?

Had it been sent?

Such questions were meaningless,

It was here,

And it waited.

 

What enemies had I,

That required its loving caress?

What purpose impure?

What need had I,

Of ultimate, intimate damage?

 

Or could I send it back?

 

It came to me unbidden, uncalled.

It waited unnamed and readied.

Yet not mine.

 

I did the unthinkable then…

Believing a release from such bondage

Could resolve its rave…

I set it free.

 

I would say that I know not today,

Where it moves now…

But I watch the news.

 

I never called it forth.

I wish I could call it back.

 

A rage has come…

 

Cliff Lake 4/12/2023

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023