Unruly Cinders Eyes that criticize Hold unwarranted power,  As they gaze on with reticent anguish, Laying up a store of waste for every day and hour   Passed, by raking Emotions over embers And coals, hot with disdain – unless, Saved by a pair of unruly cinders   That escape the burnt-up heap,  Sparking compliance  Of a sort; the catalyst  For neutral acquiescence    In which the Victim and the Critic Are together absolved  By the disappointing fact They were both at fault...