Anger’s Toxicity Surrenders

Morning arrives dragging its rake of irritations,
Notifications pecking the mind like crows at fresh seed,
Traffic congealed into a river of brake lights, red and accusing,
A careless remark dropped like a stone into the chest,
A promise forgotten,
A stranger's glare,
A screen glowing with opinions sharpened into blades.

Each slight gathers with the others, storm clouds swollen with static,
Each delay a thorn beneath the skin,
The pulse becoming a drumbeat calling for battle,
Anger striking flint against every inconvenience
In search of anything willing to burn.

Yet anger is a fraudulent king,
Demanding tribute from the very heart it governs.
It is a serpent feeding upon the hand that shelters it,
A wildfire convinced every forest is an enemy,
A furnace consuming its own foundation.

Tongues become barbed wire,
Thoughts become smoke-darkened rooms.
How many peaceful hours are ransomed to a moment's fury?

Yet…

The same current can be taught another purpose,
Lightning captured instead of scattered across the hills,
A flood redirected into fields thirsty for growth,
Volcanic heat cooling into fertile ground.

The force that begged to become destruction
Discovers it can create.

And when the impatient driver swerves across the lane,
The old spark rushes forward, familiar as thunder.
For an instant the chest becomes a tightening fist,
Words line up behind the teeth demanding release.

Instead…

A breath.
Then another.
The anger's hammer becomes a forge;
The rage that pounded at the door of the heart
Shapes itself into a key.

Beyond the windshield, a sparrow gathers grass at the roadside,
Sunlight settles across a distant field,
Wind bends the tall trees in a language requiring no reply.

The anger passes unused.
Hands loosen.
Shoulders descend.
Heart and mind sit together in quiet command,
as all the senses,

as if listening to a single note faes into stillness,
Pause.
Silent.
At peace.