Tired of Being Angry

  I’m tired of being angry, of this heat within my chest.

  Yet as I think of giving up my grudge I know that rage is best.

  For I will not cry surrender, for that way lies despair.

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  My life would be so easy, if I didn’t not care.

  What happened to compassion? Why is kindness a dirty word?

  Victory at any cost? My vision becomes blurred.

  I remember a better time, or perhaps I’m just na?ve.

  It was full of hope for a future I now know I shall not see.

  Once in a generation recessions twice, and a pandemic rather rare.

  As we face the mindless derision, of our brainwashed forebears.

  “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps.”

  So proclaims purest poppycock.

  But how can you explain to a bootlicker

  The meaning of paradox.

  I’m tired of being angry

  But I’ll be damned if I stop.