The Art of Anger

The art of anger rises in my soul
But when it has no subject, I am lost
I fight to gain emotional control
And wonder what’s been gained at such a cost
There must be beauty in the art of pain
Such masochistic thoughts begin to form
Sometimes as I investigate my brain
I feel them deviating from the norm
Creative impulse used to feel divine
But now it sinks to words denoting hate
It tosses them in each and every line
And even in my couplets, won’t abate
Like knives I use to cut within the Louvre
The art of anger helps my soul to move.