Seeing Red

A poem about anger

Put out my flames of glory,
release me from my pride,
please soak me whole, completely dry
before I reach my tide.

My soul has run amok
through west, south, north and east,
upon it's back they ride so proud -
four riders of the beast.

It's time to pay the toll,
for nothing gold can stay,
I ask of you one final thing -
from way of wreath to sway.

And as I go to war
with demons from within,
I bare no arms and no cigars,
because I can not win.