The colour of today is angry:
Flecked with spit and foam
And spit again.
The rising sun reflects fire
Beyond the line of sight: hidden,
Sour, like acid in the belly plates,
Boiling till it belches useless bile.
And the feeling of today is rage
Engorged rage, outrage, red-faced
Chest thrust forward, my pain
Is greater than yours rage.
How much it hurts.
And how much more hurt grows,
Doled out, meted out, heaped
Upon the miserable, dumped
On the defenceless.
The work of today is to vilify;
Victimize the different,
Punish the deviant,
Take frustration, pass it on,
Make victims of us all
Till every face is a mask of sorrow,
Every one scorned.
Today’s work is revenge, retribution
For every perceived slight,
For every imagined wound still festering.
It defames, degrades, calls down
Affront and shame upon the shameful.
But today's secret is felony:
Thieves sneaking through the smoke,
Cheats and robbers rubbing hands
As the calumny passes over,
Scowling at the dupes who shield them
With a fog of hatred.
Today’s game is called distraction
The left hand holds the right,
In a covering grasp, concealment
And control in a simple mannerism.
In the white heat of today
Where tempers fray ragged
And the howling never stops
Anger is an unwanted gift.
© BH, 2015
I saw a meme that quoted Buddha on anger: a sign of the times that we still need to remind ourselves how anger hurts us. The message is simple: when it's directed at you, refuse it. Thanks, but no thanks.
I’ve set this in the context of our present turmoil. Because, frankly, it all annoys me. A lot. Still, I’m not going to dump that on anyone else. Any anger is mine and mine alone. For me to resolve as best I can.
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