Staircase Wit

Aggrieved and incensed a lot I thundered some dull abuse Que sera sera said a passing sot Act Betimes or else, there’s no use! Some possess the wit to cut At anyone who stands in their way Sometimes a Parthian shot At times words to disarray But many of us cannot find The words to appease our souls Someone’s words blow us blind With rage and we drop our goals Only after the moment does pass And moaning Alas, we just toss and turn Do we think of the way and pass That make us less with ire burn Yet does it all matter that much To riposte an insult and cut back? Off a firm tree, cut a tiny notch Is that a massive deadly attack?