Anger, ire, pique, fury, some of my names,
I gently simmer beneath the surface,
At tiny irritation, you're aflame,
And you assume the whole world you can face.

Blinded by anger, you only see red,
You are immune to the voice of reason,
You hear me roar and thunder in your head,
No matter the time or what the season.

Sometimes anger is a natural way,
When mistreated or wronged, it should appear,
Do not let it perpetually stay,
For then straight into my arms, it will steer.

You should not mistake me for righteous rage,
With your very bones, I build you a cage.

You shrug away the good natured advice,
Feeling that anger is liberating,
Losing your temper indeed does entice,
And soon everyone you are berating.

Everyone seems a sinner or a crook,
Punish iniquities is what you seek,
Tempestuous soon is your entire outlook,
And in impassioned ignorance you speak.

You are filled with the desire for revenge,
Forgiveness is never your ideal,
That overpowering need to avenge,
Oh, how invincible it makes you feel.

And when I lead you down destruction's path,
You will remember my name, I am Wrath.