Rage
Bright bursts of long tongued fire roar and burn everything in sight.
Leaving smoking ruins.
Unsavory stench of burning wood.
Smoldering ruins ignored.
Smoke settles
Cool breezes blow in
Stench diluted with
drenching rain onto
face, eyes, hair and clothes
washing the awfulness of the giant burn.
Anger
A bright flash of fire
not from a flame thrower.
Merely a lighter in my hand.
Flicking the hot flame
quickly on and off,
my hand grows tired.
The lighter goes in my pocket
Flicking fire flashes
Unnecessary
Unproductive
Gigantic fire anger dampened
Embers no longer even smoldering.
Ash returning to earth at my feet.
Greenery, bearing beauty and food,
grows silently around me.
The lighter stays quiet,
resting but ready
to spring into action....
when I need to light the barbeque
Rage
A thing of the past.
“Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who
angers, for each rage leaves him less than he
had been before - it takes something from him.”
~ Louis L'Amour
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