Indignation that is
righteous is usually your own.
Rolling with the Thunder
Why I was angry matters not,
but fury had blossomed in me,
and I was it--no turning away.
Fingers atremble,
voice ashake,
heart apump,
I challenged a present wrong
yielded up to me
from some chasm of an obscure past.
I stood resiliently firm,
arteries turgid with love and law.
It is over, and I did not lose.
No one lost--or won.
The conflict was as imperative
and brief
as a summer thunderstorm.
I sit now electric with leftover adrenaline,
images of the struggle
reverberating in my thoughts--
but already a silence in my blood begins
to bathe me with merciful forgetting.
*******
Alan Harris
All ponderables and poems in these e-mails were authored by Alan Harris. Sharing is fine.
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