There Are Fists Waved Aloft In Flame Poem by Mark Heathcote

There are fists waved aloft in flame.
Tongues and voices raised into shame
That puts everything on the line.
Who feels temperamental and malign?

Who would now turn to drinking?
If they didn't know better
There are spirits higher.
Better for drinking

There are tempers among people you can't control.
Oh, you can cry and cajole.
But when you're cornered by something less divine,
We all know what you are thinking.
Let's burn this place down.

Oh, in your irritability does it feel
Like you have been pinned up against a wall?
And don't you feel combustible and small?
Oh, don't you want to lash out with your sword?

Send arrows through another's heart.
Simply because you're alone, sitting in the dark.
And you don't know what to do.
So you bang your head in rage, not knowing what to do.