Wrath, In the depths of crimson fury

In the depths of crimson fury, a tempest brews,
Not mere rage, but wrath, the fire that ensues.
A force like a river, surging through the soul,
Constricting like a narrow slit, its power takes control.

Burning faces, scorching hearts, it feeds on reason’s plight,
A drug of destruction, in its fiery might.
Yet here I stand, consumed by its blaze,
Aware of its dangers, its treacherous maze.

Why do I yield to this torrent’s call?
For it cannot be stopped, it will enthrall.
Not mine alone, this fury’s flight,
Born of others’ actions, dimming my light.

Is it my own? No, not if I refuse,
To let it reign, to let it abuse.
Wrath, rage, fury, forces within,
To be directed, not to let them win.

For in knowing their origin, their source,
We can guide them, chart their course.
So let not the liquid fire consume,
But channel its power, lest it spell our doom.