When Anger Shadows the Light

When Anger Shadows the Light

When anger takes over, a storm rolls in—
its hiss a relentless tide that drowns the gentle shore
of the good I cannot see.

My thoughts, once clear as a winter‑lit river,
now twist like vines in a night‑garden,
each leaf a question I cannot name,
each knot a knot of doubt that latches to the heart.

I watch my mind stumble through fog,
a traveler who has misplaced the map,
and I am left—
a child pressed to a cracked window,
pleading with the world to wait:

Please be patient.

For within the bruise‑red pulse of fury,
there flickers a timid ember of wanting—
to understand, to untangle the snarled wires,
to learn the language of my own reaction.

So I sit, hands trembling, gathering the shards
of broken calm, laying them gently beside the storm,
knowing that the sun never abandons the sky,
even when clouds grow fierce enough to hide it.

Patience, dear self, is the quiet compass
that will steer you back to the harbor of peace,
where anger recedes like a tide,
and the good—once hidden—steps once more into the light.