# The Whispering Rage
       Published: 2026-09-20
       
       A whisper comes in darkest days:
       "Hold still and listen to me!
       No one hears what you portray?"
       "Yet I alone understand thee!"
       
       It paints you worlds of gloom and dread:
       "The others have undone you!"
       Knits misery from your own thread:
       "Kindle rage and scream it too!"
       
       "Listen not to what others say,
       what does not fit your facts!
       They do not know what you convey,
       what you alone have suffered through."
       
       "You know it better, I am right!
       I know exactly what you need.
       The silent need that eats your might,
       I'll explain to you and your world indeed."
       
       Then you pause and ask outright,
       "What are you doing? Stop this brooding!"
       Where all the blind rage takes its flight,
       where sorrow fed on worsening brooding.
       
       The whisper now seems faint and pale,
       you follow it no longer blind.
       "Hey, come back! You need the wail!"
       But wrath no longer rules your mind.
       
       What remains when wrath and grudge subside,
       when dense fog clears away?
       Hope begins to turn the tide,
       you forge your own luck's day.
       
       Where only darkness meets the eye,
       sense and courage can anew bloom.
       The inner split was nipped nearby,
       your thoughts now freely roam.
       
       You hear your own voice saying clear:
       "Your rage was real, my child.
       But don't believe all that you hear,
       when others' words run toxic and wild."
       
       A free mind with a free will
       can achieve all it desires.
       For undeterred by voices shrill
       it finds its peace, quiet it acquires.
       
       Who in their rage accepts a word
       of comfort, without questioning,
       surrenders mastery of self
       to one who teaches complaining.
       
       —vk
       
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