SCREAM

My anger is past my own grasp.
This is all beyond metaphors,
Too much for similes.
No hypothetical situation,
No bible story,
Not the greatest tall tale
Can grasp, reach, or sense what's happening now.
We go to war for peace,
Destroy a nation to preserve a way of life.
200,000 men with guns and bombs
Are going to kill and ravage,
Threaten and bully,
Force acceptance of new beliefs,
All for the sake of freedom.
We're ignoring the one organization
That can even claim to represent the world,
In order uphold that same world's wishes.
Any semblance, any shred,
Any sense, any last hanging thread
Of logic has been dismissed,
Lost in the grand parade
Of wartoys and traditions.
So I can't articulate this anger.
I haven't learned to express myself through violence,
At least not as well as so many others.
And there is no word, no sound,
Not even a primal scream,
The one thing a man invests himself in,
That can carry the least bit of this rage
That has already burned right through me.
Being so angry is sure to make me mad.