Learn more about other poetry terms

Fury comes when least expected Usually triggered by your unaccepted Heart and soul, your person itself And knowing that you are below someone else  
I am a fallen angel, Darkness is my garment, And fury is my weapon. I was once wreathed in light, And I did the bidding of my master.
Quiet in its blooming,  Branching thoughts of wisdom, Soft petals cascade. In lavender and gentle pinks. Then soul crushing blues, sweep the garden, petals peacefully cascading no more,
My emotions belong in a cage, Eventually, slowly, hesitantly plotting a war to wage. If I ever let them show, let them out, they’ll raise hell, For the vultures, they ring the dinner bell,
The woman's tears were beautiful; the rarest things tend to be. The less a fragile soul is seen, the more tender and sweet it seems.
How strange That hands so gentle could touch with such fury And damage so intensely. How strange That hands so rough could touch the hearts of so many SO tenderly. How strange 
[I've never been one for screaming. But when something hurts deeply, I chastise for hours -- albeit at a normal volume.] These instincts betray me. The good nature I try to uphold
I could see that pain and hatred in your eyes The moment she spurned you as childish and unwise. I know how it feels to be scorned and chastised. I know how it feels to go against those baptized.
Dear Demons,   I believe that passion and fury are equivalent to playing with fire. That these fires are unforgiving, and inextinguishable.   In fact, I just so happen to be a pyromaniac.
An abyss filled with endless flames and fury, holds the power to destroy everything to the ashes Nothing but charcoal and embers remain, shakes the ground with furious tantrums
It stings deep inside Though it reveals itself As righteous anger Or perhaps A blind fury Is more accurate Your blood roars With the urge To inflict pain Only later
Blood pulsing in your veins Feral growls passing through Eyebrows knit together All aimed at you Limbs quaking with anger Hands curl into fists Shaking to slam one Into a wall A floor
O Hunter ! Beware of the fury of a wounded tigress for if not treated with love and care
Sly glittering eyes Feathers all around More cunning than wise Being without sound   Hunter in disguise Blue fire eternal
Fear Black and cold as an evil man’s heart Courses through the veins of all who experience the unknown Struck like an icy hard bell in the dead of winter, cold pulse reverberating off every stone wall Fear  
After tears comes fury Rage, simple and true Tears are everything women are supposed to be Weak and powerless Prone to emotional outbursts Unable to defend herself But when the tears are gone
Subscribe to fury