anger be gone

The morning voices linger linger linger long, and I pray for them to dissipate, anticipating final words that crack in the shadows.

Where is the light at the end of the tunnel?

Instead of my meander on a pathway of laughter and song, there is this other throng, yelps of accusations that threaten to implode upon each other as they create distance.
Aching resistance.

In this instance I need silence. And so I remember the scent of burning sage that bathes my weary ears and eyes.

No more rage.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s