My anger is a shy thing
It hides in the shadows of my brain
simmering and hissing from there.
It flares up every now and then,
just waiting to pounce, if it is allowed.
Allow it, I don’t, because really…
What is the use?
Obstinate mules won’t ever bend,
And why would they?
Have I ever ever really bent?
I’d like to think so, but i hear no ayes.
So i bend down in front of human nature.
Oh, the irony, I know,
but I see no other choice.
It is either peace or letting loose the reins
to the angry madness in me.
And one would rather choose the first one?
