contemplativeAnger
Anger is as anger does,
festering deep in the soul
waiting to finally discharge
in response to life’s abuse.
Anger waits in shadows dark,
nursing wounds most have forgot.
This seems petty, but don't forget,
a wound as such will not mend.
Boundaries pushed once again,
invisible to many, felt by few,
until the emotions explode
blowing in or out in response.
The target differs for everyone,
the outcome same nonetheless.
Frustration strikes when all is lost,
short fuse of sanity run its course.
Mix into this trigger point
the toxic brew of despair and fear.
Nowhere to go, nothing to do,
the anger seeks the lowest path.
The loss of hope removes the guards
from a heart under siege.
The invasion flows through the holes,
anger springs in quick retort.
Fear is anger's sly partner,
making tender the soft target.
Anger rallies the troops to bear
against a world filled with dread.
This end result fills the soul,
Bounty reaped through years.
Two paths move forward from this place,
one to terror, one to pain.
The direction is the pivot point,
inward can be calamitous.
Destruction in a single place
may end the corporal circumstance.
The pain is the kindest one,
through therapy the angst is removed.
Though when the ill is transformed,
discomfort is the likely chord.
Terror is the meanest path,
anger projected either in or out.
It does not abate in these ways,
though inward the body may be slain.
Introspection harbors ills
when isolation is the home
for the heart and soul abused
by a world also confused.
© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160212.
