Anger is a single red geranium, on an unkempt lawn;
beautiful in its wildness.
Anger is a burnt red leaf,
rubbing against a mossy wall;
battling to restrain against unfamiliarity.
Anger is the last red cherry,
on the sole surviving tree;
drooping in pain, uncared and unnoticed.
Anger is a stray grey cloud, hovering over the winter sun; hiding insecurities for convenience.
Anger is an unopened envelope,
left on a doorstep;
blown by the gusty wind, best forgotten.
Anger is an old childhood lullaby, tangled in vines;
of seemingly mundane memories.
Anger is the realisation, that once in a while;
it needs courage to let go.