RAGE

RAGE

by Robin Shwedo

©: Robin Shwedo, 1989



I am mad.

There is a seething, furious anger

fighting to claw its way out,

like a lion from a cage,

like a tiger from a netted trap.

I turn myself inside out with my rage.

I have found your promises to be lies;

your sweet food turns bitter in my mouth,

from cottony air to stones in the pit of my being.

My rage tears at my innards,

threatening to do harm.

I wonder to who?

Possibly more to myself.

So,

I take a deep breath,

turn from raging, seething lion

into a large timber wolf,

a sly red fox,

and wait calmly –

I can do that, you know –

while you destroy yourself in your own trap,

get what I need

that you refused to give to the one you promised

it to

from your self-destructive self,

then leave to the sound of the cool, crisp air,

rejoicing that the sounds it makes in the trees

replaces your deceitful words.

From my collection titled Poetry Unassigned, which is looking for a publisher.