The Morning Victim Poem by Alan Bruce Thompson

Some mornings I wake and feel so mad,
And feel angry at someone, who looks quite glad,
The hatred smoulders, and I get quite sad,
When I realise that this problem is the greatest I’ve ever had.

The anger begins early at about morning four,
When the body is weak and the soul’s at death’s door,
And the uncertainty and fear grow more and more,
And I shout silently till my throat is quite sore.

The antagonist has really done me wrong,
But my irritation is such that it sings a great song,
I’ve singled this mental enemy out from the throng
Then I realise that I’m the fiend, I’ve known all along.