Days are spent,
To each, their own,
Fruits of labor,
Productive tones.
But, instances arise,
You handle your best.
Dealt in your brain,
Then put to rest.
Sometimes though,
Feelings are shredded.
They won\'t leave the mind,
They stay imbedded.
Relief is needed,
For anger is tested.
Keep close, your composure,
Hold your feelings close vested.
Then grab a pencil,
Or, pen in sight,
Those groups of words,
Set together, have might.
This kind of integrity,
Would do all some good.
Write it down first on paper,
Is an appropriate move.
Your phrases hold feelings,
Your heart and mind.
Been a practice for ages,
Of the thoughtful kind.
It\'s a kind of freedom,
Not available to all.
Those from same fabric,
Will inside, stand tall.
Writers have power,
Must nurture from within.
Their defenses are these,
Paper, pencil and pen.