by Scot McAtee
Weaver
She wove her anger into a box
It was vast and wide
She worked on it for hours
Crying time to time
That box was ugly and gruesome
Wicked spiked and long
Beating heart so lonesome
Although it wasn’t wrong
That box smelt like rotting emotions
Overdue transcript potions
For that box was her jail
Whom no one would bail
None to visit, in that angry box
HD
Anger
I come in many forms
Icy frost bitten
Heat boiling blood
Damaging the mind
Faces turning ugly
It surrounds your thoughts and
Soul in this fog
Teeth baring, glass shattering
Bloody fist from the year’s battle
It smells like salty tears
And volcanic acid
About to blow, leaping out of
Our mind set
It’s a hate that tears down the human race
Leaving imprints and impressions that last as
Long as time
-HD
