Anger Poem by Micheal King

we all know the truth,
yet we are all victims of it.
we say it causes old age,
yet we fall out of stage.

we speak so mild,
yet violence is in our voice.
there is no noise,
but we beat the drum for others to dace.

our face is long,
but pretend to put them into shape.
how long can we be absent,
from our mind of innocence?

we are not saints,
yet we claim we can see.
no matter how better we are in pace,
there is a space of anger within.