Anger (Spenserian Stanza II)
A hatred, burning malice, filling rage,
Like barrels burning brighter, cherry hot,
Or canvas charred to cinder ashes, beige,
No: achromatic crumbs and cringing dots.
So do the angry flaming tongues allot
Upon its prey or persecuted waif
The lashes of a thousand smoldering shots
That leave the victim smoking, rotting, chafed.
Exist a place amidst the sea, moist, quenching, safe.