Anger

Here is a lovely poem by a blogger, Don Iannone:

Why does your voice bark anger at the world
while sitting in golden morning sunlight?
What atrocities have your eyes witnessed,
haunting your soul,
causing your every utterance to cloud the sun,
foment the peace lingering in the air, and
rape fledgling flowers of their innocence?
If I could take it all away, I would,
leaving just the hushing waves washing over you,
carrying your hurt and anger far out to sea.
If I could, I’d kiss away the bark from your lips,
leaving only a sweet trusting smile lasting a lifetime.






William Blake has brought the effects of anger beautifully in his poem The Poison Tree thus:


I was angry with my friend: 
I told my wrath, my wrath did end. 
I was angry with my foe; 
I told it not, my wrath did grow. 
And I water'd it in fears, 
Night & morning with my tears; 
And I sunned it with my smiles 
And with soft deceitful wiles. 
And it grew both day and night, 
Till it bore an apple bright; 
And my foe beheld it shine, 
And he knew that it was mine, And into my garden stole 
When the night had veil'd the pole: 
In the morning glad I see 
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree!