Ira

I have a real problem on my hands, and as you might be able to tell from the picture above (click on it to blow it up; it's worth examining in full), it's my own anger.

One of the things I have discovered over the course of the past year is that I carry a considerable amount of it with me. Its expression tends to be cyclical and relatively unpredictable, but for the most part it has been swallowed or turned inward (mostly turned inward, on myself).

Well, these past few days, for some reason, I've been experiencing it more heavily & frequently. I'm not sure what all that means, but I know it's there, and predominant. The question is, what to do with it? I don't want to be an angry person.

And him beside rides fierce reuenging VVrath,
Vpon a Lion, loth for to be led;
And in his hand a burning brond he hath,
The which he brandisheth about his hed;
His eyes did hurle forth sparkles fiery red,
And stared sterne on all, that him beheld,
As ashes pale of hew and seeming ded;
And on his dagger still his hand he held,
Trembling through hasty rage, whe[n] choler in him sweld.

His ruffin raiment all was staind with blood,
Which he had spilt, and all to rags yrent,
Through vnaduized rashnesse woxen wood;
For of his hands he had no gouernement,
Ne car'd for bloud in his auengement:
But when the furious fit was ouerpast,
His cruell facts he often would repent;
Yet wilfull man he neuer would forecast,
How many mischieues should ensue his heedlesse hast.