Good day and welcome to my blog. I am going to be changing some things about my blog. One of them is the separation of the writing or discussion of posts from the poems. I have come to realize that they are both distinct areas, and should be treated as such. Also, putting them together often made my posts seem clustered and unattractive. So from now on, the poems will be labelled poems and the writing part would be the topic alone. It’s all to improve your experience on this blog and I hope you love it. If you have any further changes you might feel might be needed, the comment box is all yours.

With that out of the way, it’s time to get to the business of today. And it’s a poem on Anger. The inspiration to this was not a personal experience shockingly. I was feeling creative and I wanted to paint a picture of Anger that we could all relate to and I came about this. I hope you can relate to it in your own way.

What really is anger?

An imperfection in the work of the maker,

Or just mere differences in the extent to which we can be tapered

As I begin to ponder,

A story of man stumbles across my mind’s border

Of how a Young man’s right to freedom,

Became squandered

Now he spends his nights in a cell,

Simply because he couldn’t admit he needed help

This young man was like every other,

But had a temper that could move borders

It was on his way back from a terrible working day,

I wish he knew his bad fate was about to aggravate

He would have never gotten into a fight,

On that devilishly fabricated night

If he had known the other man had a gun,

He would have what any mortal would do,

Take to its heels and just run

But what no twist of fate could change,

Was the level of inexperience running through the other man’s veins

As he brought out this weapon of man’s destruction,

Immediately it left his hands to unite with the floor

And it became a race to acquire,

This life ender, to incur its wrath on the other

Our young man seemed to have gained the edge,

But at this moment, his sanity had jumped off a ledge

He put a bullet through the other’s heart,

Sending him to become a member of the past,

Reuniting him where his ancestors all sat

And then, he realized the gravity his actions had,

The consequences of his actions dawned on him in a haste

But anger, as sly as a fox,

Had disappeared without a trace.

.Cromwell