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The Angry Man
Fists clenched tight, real tight
Jaws locked, this primeval
urge to fight, beating the wall
it wont give in, but neither will I
strike after strike, with each drop
blood then sweat, nothing else
no one else, nowhere else
seems to matter
true enough these are motions of man
but not of a good man, not of me...
in the shattered glass, the puddle of blood
A reflection, wild and lawless
cold and heartless, I have to
beat this, to see this
for what it is, though powerful and relentless
Not strength, not strength at all
simply weakness
poem
by
Craig Parmisan
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