Picture by Wikimedia Commons


Anger sleeps within me
like a dormant volcano.
I carry the lava inside me.
It boils and quietly churns,
it prepares a scene
from where nothing returns.


The lava inside me
Awakens with no notice.
It starts steaming.
Then in no time it erupts,
it burns and torments me,
any order disrupts.


The soul of the volcano is out.
The angry lava is in a state
of no return, only destruction.
All life is swept away.
To this uncontrolled power
every creation obeys.


Once out, the anger
has no record of meaning.
It has a life of its own.
Of ruins the anger is a fine crafter,
turning beauty to wreckage,
where there is no life after.


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