A Poem of Fury

Someone snatched
and tore apart my poetry
Filled it with images
of a blood-stained VT.
It’s a strange numbness
They make me suffer.
It’s the gunned down Leopolds
My pen can’t get over.

Of the ones I want to kill
I have no names
It’s everyone who cheered, failed or took advantage
When they set my Taj on flames.