In time the fury ebbs and flows like forests dark and overgrown into a wanting soul.
At first it easily abides the mind's control like lunar tides monotonous and droll.
Its toothy grin and bloody tongue looked cute before when they were young; now hungrier they seem.
The flames are fanned so easily by mirth and joy and jealousy; the boiling brings the steam.
Pressurized within the years the rage burns blue, engulfs the fears, so ready to explode.
And though it wants to burst and kill and rape and torture somehow still the fury is controlled.