“How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it.” — Marcus Aurelius
There is no such thing as righteous anger.
A careless word, a truth that stings.
A tiny spark fanned by unseen winds,
Started the fire that set the stage.
Grows to an inferno , called it rage.
Logic shrinks, cornered and whimpering
Reason takes flight with a broken wing.
Begging, now a choked whisper in the storm,
Pleading, a fragile hope, tattered and torn.
Words now add fuel to the fires,
A battle led by blind eyes and deaf ears.
The frenzy of anger consumes all in sight,
Leaving only embers, unmoved by plight.
The aftermath, a desolate smouldering plain,
Where beauty once reigned , only ashes remain.
Regret and remorse , a bitter aftertaste
If only I had paused, before it was too late?
A cup of kindness, like calming gentle rain,
To douse the flames, ease the searing pain.
Forgiveness, a blanket of cool soothing sand,
Hope to bury the embers with a steadfast hand.