Heated sounds

Wild murderers
Have slaughtered young children, old folks.
The air burns;
Earth and heaven flame and scream.

The poet's heart trembles;
His blood boils from anger,
For murderers have severed years.

The pen flies through his fingers,
Angry words complain,
And the poems beat.

Heated sounds grow loud,
Nature's fancy glows,
Human feelings awaken.

Pluck out the human soul
Of the murderers;
Take revenge!