By Michael W. Raley
My anger, like the sun,
Rises slowly over the horizon
Penetrating the inner darkness.
No matter the situation,
The anger goads me,
Asking accusing question after accusing question
Until I respond in rage
And say what I’ve been hiding under the surface.
I know it’s not right and that I am better than this,
Yet, I pacify the anger instead of putting it away.
I have only so many cheeks to turn
And only so much humble pie I can eat.
No matter how hard I try,
No matter how much I pray,
No matter how much I change,
The anger grows back like a weed
And I am back to square one.