The Noose Around my Neck

She's nothing like the African woman i know
who bath at cradle, the African child at dawn,
at will, the sting of her tongue she will adorn,
she'll quench, rather than fan the embers of my glow.
the seed of lengthy discord, always, she will sow,
her crown, to her words, a miserable pawn
made by her to wallow in self pity, beaten and torn
a tumor unimaginable in this mind made to grow.
anger, a viable response of defense now wielded
without a thought of what could result,
so huge an ire now have a mind blinded,
the sharp edge of a curtal ax I consult
product of this blow got me now confounded,
in solace with a noose,I find restful conduct.