Ghost of Anger

The anger – it burns
white-hot in my head
flaring, flaming, flashing
racing through my body
blazing in my belly
flickering at my fingertips
calling me into action
run, feet!  reach, arms!
grab, hands!
seize the bastard before you
call the blaze into life
send the flames licking at his heart
whip him into the frenzy of fury.

The anger – it freezes
blue-burning cold
wet, whipped, and roiling
then bitter and hard
at the root of my belly
splashing, sloshing, creeping
immobilizing my arms
petrifying my legs
stand firm, feet!  hold to yourself!
show the bastard before you
water changes all as it flows
liquid or frozen
remaining ever the same
hard and cold
implacable rage.

The anger – it hardens
brown-ground solid
as the earth beneath my feet
halted, rooted, stumbled
forcing me down
into the earth
down in the dark and the moss
the dank smelly leaves
the humus and compost and peat
lie down!  face to the ground!
fertilize your frustration
let fear flower and flourish
give birth to the bastard before you
from the dank earth
of the belly of your wrath.

The anger – it whips
wind-wild whispers
the sidhe in the air
crying, sighing, singing
the flames and the ice
and the ground shout
but the sidhe sings in my ear
the wind tickles the lashes
of my tight-shut eyes
teases them open
to let the tears escape
flow free!  find me!
firestorm, snowstorm, sandstorm
blow past in the wind
where is the bastard before you?
flames lick, water sucks, earth pulls
mind cries
heart breaks
body falls.

Crumpled, I find myself
alone with the ghost of anger
the spectre of fear
haunting demons
frustration, madness, and rage.
Now, there is no bastard to burn.
There is only me
a tentative God-candle
reflected in teardrops
squeezed from this body made of dust
given life by the divine wind.