Anger outbursts as a thirst for something else.
Something that it's once forgotten & it once knew.
Rebelling against what was tabled as still available,
it now only ever still grew & still grew to still brew.

Wanting something else. Enraged, and not so steady,
or firmly and soundly all roundly stabled disabled.
Too narrow a focus was limiting love's lost parallels,

all being all left all wrongly now misspelt & mislabelled.

Mourning past the grief of my storming wrathful anger,
not yet all lovingly confessed & blessed by being myself,
was an angry all powerful crazily unengaged,
quietly noisy empty all consuming angry buried cold rage.

My anger left all now suppressed was being stonily left alone.
My rage not yet all lovingly addressed, or for the best possessed.
I felt all suddenly shut in, all trapped now in an unlocked empty,
cold heated holding silent confined enshrined golden cage.

Groaning past the turning of my inner growing,
flowing confined in an unfelt rushing outward tide.
Anger was hiding away in my lost forgotten,
undefined all gone unfelt painful inward pride.

Trying to not be just an angry hostilely bitter,
unaligned conducting lightning transmitter.
I raged away still all angrily so stubbornly bitter,
raging savagely away life's long lost past golden glitter.

Holding onto a rage-less death kept so hidden within,
my soulless spent and deadened quiet life went on.
Not growing into a peaceful lovingness of happiness,
any less than my painful strife was still being relied upon.

Empty on the inside, holding my hurt still all left unheard,
still being left all denied, still kept all away from my heart.
Going away in a renewed spurt of madness, still not so alert.
I finally cried now my final last reply before I upped and died.

I replied so helplessly pleading to all who might listen or hear.
Why is life so painfully all wrapped away in my saddened anger?
Raging past the point of no return was a sudden immanent death.
Caring for nothing much else again, living now in cold chilling fear.

I had tried so hard to find myself, from outside myself in my anger.
Not really ever looking deep enough inside to be confidently sure.
My raging anger had closed my blinded eyes to the unseen doors,
of a beautiful love still so widely open, yet angrily left still untried.

Learn more about this author, Steve Marshall.
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