maraud

What can write this anger,
no words to seal this angst.
Tomorrow if I’m to feel this,
who am I against.

The dinner table’s set,
surely the anger’s mine.
How many egos feed,
then sup at a rich wine.

Caress my spun head,
tear free working word.
Freely call the enemy to field,
show now a true worth.

Give hating heart direction,
to cam disordered mind.
Write utterance of affection,
script the peace I find.

Place down the daggered pen,
result is not foregone.
Crawl now to quiet cave,
clean sheets lay words upon.