She could start a fight in an empty room,
Her anger echoing off bare walls.
A tempest brewing in silent gloom.
Her fists clenched tight, face set in doom,
She paces, ready for brawls and squalls.
She could start a fight in an empty room.
Shadows dance as she begins to fume,
Imagined slights spark verbal maulings,
A tempest brewing in silent gloom.
Her rage, a flower in full bloom,
Needs no audience as it unfurls and sprawls.
She could start a fight in an empty room.
No furniture to break or assume
The role of foe as her fury calls,
A tempest brewing in silent gloom.
Alone, she’ll argue, rant, and fume,
Her own worst enemy in these halls.
She could start a fight in an empty room,
A tempest brewing in silent gloom.
Bob Lynn / 09-Nov-2024
