on despair

i feel irritated with angry voices,
who scream, rant and rave, righteous and boisterous
but for those who listen.. you'll hear
a false war-cry upon what they fear

sticks and stones, worse still unbreakable bones
they fake an image, imagine, scream!
world upon their shoulders,
modern atlases upon rat hearses..
with virtues as fronts for black purposes

their cries grow hoarse, irk - disgusting but apt
so do peoples find emotions to fill this gap
on the attack, easier to destroy than to build
they can't grasp, can't rest.. pawns in this internal feud

a clue for you, the ego speaks of deep instincts
which goes against which beliefs then?

freudian philosophers may frown upon this bridge
but what i feel is that the internal is this lever
while the eternal breaks, but can't express..
what i want to hear - distress, not hate
a cry, that bares, what i want is... real despair