Nor impatience breaking through;
Just that life has such to offer,
My rage has naught to do with you.
It’s frustration that emerges forth,
It’s despair on the run;
No, I haven’t forgotten your worth,
It’s nothing that you’ve done.
It spills across, the futile wrath,
It pours out through the cracks;
And once we’re on a warpath,
None can halt us on our tracks.
Remorse, regret, have no place
When damage has been done;
Quickly may you pass the phase,
Bad lessons swiftly forgotten.