Festering Getting twisted inside because of some wrong or other. The original cause is almost certainly forgotten; but the festering annoyance lingers on. It’s a suppressed expletive; an anger no longer rational but so, so real. I always find it quite liberating when I read something that - even though it were written well over 200 years ago - nails it to perfection. And our very own William Blake - come on, he wrote ‘Jerusalem’; he came up with ‘chariots of fire’ and ‘dark satanic mills’ – was the one who got it. Who understood the evil power of festering: A Poison Tree I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I watered it in fears, Night and morning with my tears; And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright. And my foe beheld it shine. And he knew that it was mine, And into my garden stole When the night had veiled the pole; In the morning glad I see My foe outstretched beneath the tree. William Blake
Posted on: Mon, 21 Apr 2014 20:37:04 +0000
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