Indignation

I spoke, and
you spoke, and
personality is the bane of language.
So much is left to the imagination,
so that we might as well be
playing charades with our tongues.

Well, you didn't quite get my meaning,
so now I'm kicking rocks and looking at tress,
as if to ask them, "What do I do now?"

The rocks say,
"Hold firm to that which you know to be truest,
be it a hulking boulder

or the minutest grain of sand."

The trees don't agree,
"That which you greet with stubbornness and rigidity
will destroy you from without,
But that which you greet with love and open arms
will sustain you from within."

See, you see indignation
as a ferocious wolf that must be slain,
but only because you're afraid of it.
I stare it in the eyes,
and see that it is really something said
starved of meaning,
and just as afraid of you as you are of it.
If only you turn and face it,
it simply runs away.

For instance, when conflict arises,
You go on the attack,
but I distract myself, giggling at the thought
of both of us wrestling a neurotic poodle.