If Anger Were a Messenger

If anger were a messenger,

With fire and a branding iron,

What would it ride?

A chariot with ill-tempered steeds,

Or well-styled four-inch heels?

Would there be shouting rhymes

Or eyes that incinerate the soul?

Is there relentless breath

Or a vociferating wind?

Is there a piercing silence

And an advance of scorching blaze?

Whatever the manifestation

The tempest sinks deep,

Torching and throbbing

Leaving ashes and regret

In the trailing embers.

So what does it mean?

Can it be forged for good?

Is there a jewel in the dust?

Will a blade become real

Once the crucible is removed?

One can only tell in the sulfur

If the destroyer leaves a gift

Or merely a cinder.


© 2017 Valerie Hathaway

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