Anger. Old friend. I used to
Fear you. Now you are
A tool;

Seeing me assertive when
Others fail to act.
Pumping crimson oil through

The hydraulics of my Must,
Move and This when
Something's there that

Shouldn't. Yes, you may fill
My eyes with the Black of
Blacks when faced with

Spite and inconsideration;
The kind of Black that keeps
Loved ones safe.

Anger. Old friend. Finally
Wise enough not to
Overstay your welcome.