I wonder how many times has it been,
That I've imagined myself as death, destroyer of worlds,
Summoning suffer and pain while my face grins,
With my heart ever so joyous and keen.
An imagination of a child? No, it is not.
It's how everyone's head feels when it's hot,
Especially when you feel like punching your boss's face,
Or being abused for no reason from that horrible place,
Or when your patience just snapped releasing the rage.
Should I be like the fire?
The flame that hungrily consume everything in its path,
I may be slow in moving but I am full of wrath,
Especially when they scream in fear so intense,
Fueling me up scorching the heat bringing the menace,
Like me, some men just want to watch the world burn.
Or should I be like the water?
The flood that rains down souvenirs of sadness of mine,
I may not be threatening at first but in time,
They shall be drenched in depression then drown in the abyss,
Icing their hearts with the frost of kiss,
Leaving them cold and restless makes me bliss.
Or maybe I should be like the wind?
The hurricane that blows and throws you like a rag doll,
I may randomly move around and miss but when I don't,
They shall taste the twisting vortex of the tornado,
Ripping and silencing out their cries into nevermore,
No...that's not enough, a thunderstorm is needed to strike your soul.
Or perhaps I should be like the earth?
The quake that violently shakes your pride and foundation,
I may not grab you in the air but how long can you hold?
Forced to watch those around you crumble the young and old,
Falling into the mouths of tremors collecting tolls,
Even the haven you're in shall tremble into the black hole.
But in the end no matter how many times I envision it,
I just could not deliver my vengeful spirit,
and I choose not to,
For my perseverance and patience withholds me from self-destructing,
It's for the sake of my heart to be joyous and keen.
