MusingsPoetry

Anger Has No Second Name

Angry much he pulled up the bottomless pit behind the pulpit,

Shaved the armpits with his sharp teeth,

In fury he drives to the silent age,

The age of settlement between the adaptation and the adage,

Battling with the shells of ego,

Anger has no second name.

I would be writing with strip poles if given those Pandora’s boxes,
But I have already clutched the knowledge of the tool-box,

He has no sympathy for the adulthood sake,

The ambiverts are from the neighborhood lake,

Forgiveness upon forgiveness with kneels as if they’re asking for alms,

His face ace with flames but with no inch of an alarm,

Anger has no second name.

He negotiates with calmness like a peaceful white flag,
But switch sides when shown what to do first like a tattered black flag,

He is an angelic affidavit, allowing him to exercise emotional disturbance from his brains,

Anger has no second name.

A verbal land doesn’t need an introduction,

Sure, I might be writing to disturb thoughts or fiddle with your mind electrons,
But, I’m the enlightening source: the proton.

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