Wrapped Poem by Michael Varghese

We wrap it around us so tight
Like an old man his cloak
So cold, so old his skin's gone white
And to all us common folk
we seek comfort in it
The fire, the warmth
We keep it close for protection
From the rising of the sun
Till the day is done
With us always
No matter what, it stays
For when we feel exposed
And too easily disposed off
We go to it, like death to the dying
And we stay in its fiery embrace
It fits like a plane in a hangar,
This anger.

We know it hurts those close
Even if it shows,
Every fight remembered,
Every bad thought echoed and heard
Still we hold on to this iron armour
Found on every king, trader and farmer
Though only few of us learn
not to let it burn
Or to keep it close or hold it tight
For the future looks far more bright
Without your cloak shielding you from the light
Without your armour keeping you dim, dark and cold
In its vicious hold, like a miser with gold

And left in your view
Will be something new
A weapon to rip this cloak
apart, to break this armour,
weapons of true power
known as Kindness and Hope
To help others the same as you cope

And with friends of the same kind
you will never look behind
To your once dark world
And the anger you once wore
Like a cat its fur
Would become non-existent for sure.