The fury

The fury had always been there,
however imperceptible it may have been.
It boiled and burbled in perpetual effervescence,
eager to erupt.

The fury had always been misunderstood.
Its arrhythmic percussion confused everyone,
and its vibrant pulse and thunderous rambles often suffocated those of misguided will.

Yet its raging beauty always found a way to fashion the world new,
taking pride in its chaotic articulations and controversial deliberations. 

The fury took nothing for granted,
yet saw no horizon too distant.
The mighty crosses and murderous fires
were no obstacles for the frenzied souls
who saw the absurd in the negation of utopia.

To negate is to excuse.
And the fury said: make no apologies, for I long to be deciphered.