Many think of anger, as hot
fiery
volcanoes erupting
The ground shaking
Thunder
In my fathers voice

When I think of being angry
I think of silence
Of turning the ocean to ice
I think of glass
And reflections
I think of lava
because I think true rage
is kept hidden

It isn't the smoke that escapes nature's destruction
Or the roaring flames that engulf it
It isn't a thousand shattering windows
Or a deafening wind

Its the silent, burning lava
Rage is eternal
Destroying all in its path
Without so much as a
*Whisper