When my fire had burned out to smolders
She offered me a soft smile by the remaining smoke
And said
"Why do you hold on to such anger?"
I did not quite know how to answer
I wish I could let it wash away
In the
Rivers of time like she so easily could
Her hands busy themselves with the
Striking of iron against iron
But I
I taught myself only the arts of war
And my memory is long
The grudges I hold even longer
I rage
Because my anger is grief
and my grief anger
How could she ask me that -
"Why do you hold on to it?"
What else?
Where am I supposed to lie it down?
