Prickly words cut like swords.

Yes, it is way past time to go to bed.
Sweat dampens the hair on his head.
Yet, still he has an urge to compose
Prickly words, like thorns on a rose.

His feelings of anger will not go away,
Nor will sleep come before a new day.
“My anger grows!” he wants to growl,
“My temper emanates from me so foul.”

However, a friend walks beside him
Who guides him to a trail not so dim?
To a path where he will not stumble,
One to stay on and to remain humble.

He says, ‘my pride won’t influence me.’
When anger comes, from it I shall flee
Fury would override another’s welfare
For wrath gives no one empathy or care.

If I should let it enter within and burrow
All forever will have regret and sorrow
Observe a man who shot noisy neighbors
All for lack sleep and a day of hard labors.

Now all suffer the consequences of it
He shot and killed three and some hit.
The man spends all his days in prison.
All hurt, for no one listened to reason.

 All Because of Prickly Words.