My whiteness blemished by the tints of blue, green
and yellow; blood red and swift, drips, then dries, as I
lay in my bed of eternal lies. When you are angry, your
voice becomes a fist. While it is I who has no freedom,
it is you that stands in the fog of our world with
Pseudo intelligence and Pre-fabricated wisdom.
©2013.annjohnsonmurphree
Poetry EBook on Amazon.com link in sidebar.
ann johnson-murphree 
When you are angry your voice becomes a fist… …. Sad but true…
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When you are angry, your voice becomes a fist. >> wow, such power. Sad power… but powerful wording regardless.
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