Poetic anger

When breaking away is impossible
When there is nothing plausible
What will come to your mind?
What thoughts would be on the grind?

There is anger, like a mad rage
Opinions shed their plumage.
Sugar coated facts dissolve
And there's nothing eligible to absolve.
What actions will you prescribe to?
Will you wander into knowing
what you cannot do?
Will there be a glimpse of the unknown?

A poetic anger might take shape
A rhyme or two you would ape.
It may soothe you into submission
But will it offer freedom as its mission?

What eludes you into sweaty palms
does the same to all, under its charms.
There is not a single being
which hasn't gone through this grappling.
And of course there is no closure
Just the idleness to saunter.