Fire

This is a poem of when I had lost my friends and was angry at the world

I sat, brooding,
On a stool of pain,
Whittling carefully at a
Dagger of hateful words.
Days to weeks,
Weeks to months,
Months to years,
And I remain, holding
This ebony grudge to my chest.
For the first time,
I look at what my heart's
Become the home of:
Anger, Anguish, Sorrow,
Frustration, and every
Spiteful and evil thing,
Crowding the space,
Hiding me from view.
I weep at what I've become.
Self-renewal makes my hand
Clutch the last Candle of Hope,
Setting every dark thing to flame.
I hide.
When I emerge, tenative,
I am relieved. I see hope.
The hope of a new dawn.