Eager children held in trust,
mowed down like tins on a fence
the young man’s anger deep enough,
to reach the bottom of the sea.
A volcanic rage with chemical shortage
combined to cause nauseating slaughter,
he started with his aloof mother, a strange one,
shooting practice with her son.
But precious light of those children
their vibrant love never realized as adults,
pulses never quickened
their future joy ever blackened,
hollow aching chambers in their parent's chests,
in the consuming tsunami of his confusing rage.
Parents stunned to bursting
stumbling in their cognition,
an astonishing new way of life,
never imagined choking loss,
cruelly barbarically fitted on them,
their crown of thorns.
But does anyone really gauge the depth,
the scope of anger
the self defined crude ego
of any stunted madman?