Anger
-
“Nothing deprives the soul so much as to build a dam of fire, a wall of flame, around what is intended to flood the self. These are waters meant to reveal reflections, to an understanding from the external individual who can look within what is grief. As anger is built, in vain, around sadness, it
-
“Anger, the cure to life, by the death of it. For we aim to put out the flame with a greater one, and never so bravely open our vulnerable selves to the washing rain of teardrops.” – Modern Romanticism Anger. Is such an emotion able to be controlled? It cannot, any more than fire can
-
“It is not society, but himself, who tells the man to remain strong. Though, the toxin as the addiction, whether of alcohol, the injection, the pill, or anger, is simply the disguise around hurt. Pain is always concealed by the addiction. Hurt is always avoided by turning to the addiction. By pretending to be strong,
-
“Grief compels the fool to act out, from it. Grief compels the fool to raise a fire against those who wronged them. They are consumed, blinded, by the need for Vengeance. The blood boils up to their eyes, and they see nothing more than their own carnage. A common human element is hunger. Hunger is
-
“Justice does not steer us in a direction, nor does it conform to the emotion of anger. One is calm, through Justice. One is decisive and planning, through Justice. One does not maneuver with a blade or gun to the target of oppression, and call it Justice. For Justice is never personal.” – Modern Romanticism
-
“There are many who utter the line, ‘This receives too much hate’, when the sentence should read as, ‘This receives too much criticism’. For true hatred cannot be ‘too much’, as it just is, by itself, a destroyer. Hatred is a purpose in one’s life. Hatred is never ‘too much’, anymore than love is too
-
“Of all I’ve grown angered for, it has always been clear in mind that through grief, a person has no clarity. A resolution, a solution, an answer is not met when one is swamped by their own anger, stemming from their own grief. Why has it been, even in recent days, that one movement will
-
I thought to myself,If I could change, from this searing anger I have felt,To an uplifted self.And, all that resulted was a bitterness. I thought to myself,If I could change, from this demented mind for a man,I have within my cranium,And, all that resulted was a bitterness. Like a lash upon my arm, from your
-
Fill me with the energy,To attack a traitor.I saw her playing with power,Under the sun.Under her round moon,A face of many.Ovular as eggs,To plant creation into a nest,A bosom white,Dropping the hued-red apples. Though, she’s betrayed all of love,All of the safety from a ruler.She faces the wrath of God.The downpour from His hand;The Hand
Modern Romanticism 