The weight of my anger grows too heavy to carry
I search for a place to at last lay it down
But there’s a steep wall  on my left, a sheer drop on my right
And those coming behind me behind me are pushing me on

My disappointment is as tall as a mountain
Big stone at the bottom I’m too weak to push up
I’ve worn out a groove on the road to the summit
And life carved a path for it on the way down

I once loved an SF writer named Harlan
His anger made mine seem like a mere whine
How I envied his command of the language
The words of his hatred set fire to the pages

His anger was TNT in a small package
The fuse so short it couldn’t be seen
The world around him resembled a matchbook
And Society always offered a light.

But that was a journey I took long ago
He strode into sunlight - I slipped into shadow
He never taught me to make bonfires of language
And I so wish I’d stayed til that lesson was learned.
ljm