Anger

If i let this anger go, where would it go?

If into air, would it fall back

as thunder in the next storm rising?

If into water, who might drink it in?

I cannot bury it in earth, or it would sprout.

A forest such rage would be to cruel.

It will not burn itself out; smoldering,

it does not flare nor fade.

Holding it up to the light,

I cannot tell it from the light.

In the dark, keeping me from sleep,

it whispers loud enough to be heard

but not understood,

holds me like a chill.

I want it to be still.

I want to sit and ease its grip

with song, its temper loosen from

belly to lap, all furred, bristling

with glares, but present as a chair,

seen for what it is.

The clash of minutes on a clock.

Hope condensing on a knife.

Love divided into want and need.

I would listen to this fury speak

in its own voice,

words that hold no meaning but their being,

discover how it lives and why it came to me.

NOW, TELL ME, 

(i)  How the speaker uses IMAGERY in this poem? Support your answer by close reference to the poem.

(ii)  What is your impression of this speaker and his attitude towards "anger" in this poem? Remember to refer closely to the words and images of the poem in your answer.

HAHAHAHA

you werent expecting this were you?

just for fun

poem by 

Alvin Pang, City of Rain.