Poison

I had a rather frightening experience today. I succumbed to anger, something I rarely do. My outbursts have only been observed by the lucky few. Today, I felt the anger grew in me, just like what William Blake described in this poem. In fact, I wanted the same thing to happen to my foe.

A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend:

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,

Night and morning with my tears;

And I sunned it with smiles,

And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,

Till it bore an apple bright.

And my foe beheld it shine.

And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole

When the night had veiled the pole;

In the morning glad I see

My foe outstretched beneath the tree.