I am accused of being angry when instead I see my mirrored image
Differently as most people do.
I am accused of being angry because my passion is hot and fast flowing from my pen
When all I mean to say is to my species
I love you why do you not recognize our extinction.

I am accused of being angry when I shout at the deaf among us
And shine light into the eyes of the voluntarily blind urging them to look and perhaps see what to me is vision amidst our shared global nightmare.
I am accused of being angry because I recognize the Medusa’s head of our time and shudder at its’ multiplication as its’ progeny simultaneously
appears everywhere.

I am accused of being angry because I cannot let the new windmills of our time pump poison without sounding an alarm.
I am accused of being angry because I choose to be awake in a sleeping world or if not asleep nodding on my watch.

I am accused of being angry because I choose to write my own eulogy
Of I was here, I cared, I loved, I warned, I cried, and was thankful for my many blessings.
And when I sleep for the last time you may say
Here lies a Poet Priestess who tried, failed, succeeded, and continued to battle
voluntary ignorance.