Catharsis

A violent thought taking shape loses its spark,
vanishes into the infinite synapses; the brain notices

A fist of anger that never fully forms
flexes the limited muscles; the body holds

A loud shout that doesn’t escape mouth
dissolves into ever flowing blood; runs deep down into the soul

A voice whimpers “Towards the end, not so easily, not now, not yet.”

Then a sunset, then a flower, then a butterfly
then a smile, then a song, then a dream, then an idea, then an expression

“Cleansed, purified, silenced right now.”