The Beast

It sleeps within
The Soul of Man.
A silent creature
Waiting there.
Biding time for
When it can, burst
Forth to feed again.
It thrives on Anger
Lust and Fear
It feasts on stolen Life
Its' thirst is quenched
By Blood still warm
That flows from
Wounds so free.
And when its'
Hunger is sated well
It hies back to the soul
And there in slumber
It will dwell
Until again set free.

A good description of the animal instinct in all of us.
That sleeps inside of our soul.

LOA

Dave;
Me thinks, (to quote some of you guys, and girls), I’d rather be on your side, then not. Rage is in all of us, for a reason. If only we could eliminate those reasons?

JC

JC;

Rage is part of the survival instinct and that is inherant to all species. It can not be removed only controlled and the veneer that covers it must constantly be re-enforced. My friend we are stuck with it like it or not.

David.

Well, I should keep mine under check, for I surely feel a lot of rage lately....

Rage is one of those words that get out and about a lot. I think sometimes we think it's rage when it's really the discharge of severe annoyance. ("Road rage," for example; being on the road and being cut off or tailgated is not enough for true rage unless there is something very wrong with your brain chemistry already.) Not to say that's a trivial thing; but true rage is really a deeply altered state with distinct brain patterns. I think it's got to be one of the life or death situations, war among them, or a habitual repetition of deep and helpless fear and frustration (like being battered) to call it out of a normal person, and then it would be very likely to make the person physically sick coming down from it after.