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Outrageous Raves

I doubt the opposite of bliss
could be hate,
for bliss blinds synaptic
and fast-fades ephemeral,
as if it too soon
had never been.

Hate broods and breeds
festers and feeds
on past angry memories
fading forward future fears
of empty echoing
hot flowing paranoia
feasting on should have beens,
could have becomes,
if not for ruinous mortality.

In life’s end,
defeat,
in our beginning,
terror of relentless terror.

No, I sense the opposite of bliss
is rage,
blindingly synaptic,
fading back to slow-burning distrust
of life’s long-suffering challenges,
anthro on anthro.
At least, I cannot recall rage
about the weather,
or mosquitoes,
or even swarming bees.

Rage,
contrasted to more generic angry fear-filled panic,
overpowers even Earth’s transpeciating terrors
then fades back
as if it had never been
any more than hyperactive mistrust,
unsafely harbored in swarming seas of dissonant stress.

Blissful rave through hateful rage,
Earth’s vast embodied stage
for feelings flowing like light and dark clouds
before sun and star light’s constant transparent witness,
waiting for emotive multicultures to learn balance,
like midway infants
learning which operatic brights
bring bliss
which bring rage
and what will outrageously radical raves feel like
to timelessly sustain,
living full-stretched balance.

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