Anger sits with hooded eyes,
curled claws closely grip
the solid wrist of reason
which hovers o’er my heart.
This winged beast with endless eyes,
in silence slowly fed
can turn and tear if long ignored
and slay my soul in shreds.
She rests in quiet submission,
full feathers fold and fall
to guard the powers hidden
which stirs when passion calls.
This bird of prey when guided well,
in rage released again,
can soar and seek with sight restored
and strike the source of pain.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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One Response to Anger

  1. Pingback: The Key…. « timzauto…. in search of the blond haired kid

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