There is anger in my soul.
It is buried deep within me.
My lungs burn with a fire
Forged from years of silence.
The claw marks scar my being
As I try to expel it from my existence.
Maybe I get it from my father,
Whose way of showing love
Was to not show it at all.
Maybe I get it from my mother,
Whose way of showing love
Was to never know when to stop.
Maybe I get it from my ancestors,
Whose oppression led
To the death of an entire nation.
I am scared.
I long to not feel the embers
Fanning deep within me.
How pathetic it would be
To die with anger in my heart.
But I fear it has been with me for too long.
And I wonder if it is embedded in my print.
If this is something I shall carry to the grave.
How pathetic, I think, as I find comfort
In this blazing inferno.
How pathetic, indeed.
YOU ARE READING
Scenes From A Dream
PoetryIn her debut poetry anthology, 'Scenes From A Dream', K. V. Labra takes the reader on a journey through imagery inspired by her insanely vivd, and weird, dreams, as well as media that feeds into her imagination. Perfect for daydreamers, wanderers...
