An overreaction…

A little wee molehill

started it’s day,

discussing a comment

it overheard someone say.

Words took on tones

and the tones became loud,

and the molehill grew bigger

with the noise of the crowd.

Tempers erupted

and proportions were blown,

and the molehill kept growing

each time anger was shown.

War was declared,

and so ends this recount,

of the little wee molehill,

that grew into a mount.








Silently violently…


The air is thick between us,

the silence is intense.

We fall to pieces over little things,

so quick to take offense.


When you look at me with violent eyes

I know your tempers at it’s peak.

Right on cue you’ll up and leave,

and then ignore me for a week.