In a world of honor, where kings do reign,
And soldiers, brave, march with valor unfeigned,
Poets, they say, possess hearts so profound,
But I, in this chaos, my rage does resound.

Kings have honor, a virtue esteemed,
Their regal grace, like a beacon it gleams.
Soldiers possess bravery, fearless and bold,
In battles fought, their stories unfold.

But poets, oh poets, their hearts run deep,
With words they sow, emotions they reap.
Yet I, amidst these roles, stand apart,
For all I have is rage, consuming my heart.

A fire within, burning fierce and wild,
Untamed and unyielding, like a tempest defiled.
No honor, no bravery, no tender art,
Only rage, tearing me apart.

In this sea of virtues, I am adrift,
With no compass to guide, my soul does rift.
But perhaps within rage, there lies a power,
A fuel that burns, in every dark hour.

For rage can be a force, strong and true,
When channeled wisely, It breaks through.
Through trials and tribulations, I’ll find my way.
Harnessing the fury, a new path I’ll sway.

So let kings have honor, and soldiers their might,
Poets their hearts, embracing the light.
I’ll embrace my rage, for within it I’ll grow,
Transforming it into strength, a fierce and mighty glow.