The Angered

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  • Gothic

    The Angered

    I watched her moving towards the horizen,
    made out the sound of her cry within the waves,
    yelling as the night skies began to darken,
    Oh how that moon hovered over all the graves!

    So I sat down in the sand near the water,
    wondering about our last conversation,
    her hair was wild then, like a light bone fracture
    those final words, I knew her heart had blackened.

    When suddenly the sky roared, and pebbles fell,
    while the waves reached terribly wonderous heights,
    a star falling to the seas bottom of hell,
    provoked I stood in defiance of these sights.

    For my world had just earlier been shattered
    So even the wrath hadn't matched the angered!

    Written by Bee Quiet


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    Nikki36 commented on The Angered

    10-22-2009

    I think the poem is really deep the sadness of your loss and anger.

    When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

    John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA

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