Dave Bonta's "Roar" is only a few words long, but it holds a surprising amount of tension. The poem opens with a single image, "whitewater," and then turns to the speaker's own feeling: an ache to "sing without song." That phrase is a paradox. The speaker wants to sing, yet not with words or a tune, only with raw sound.
The whitewater seems to be the model for that wish. Rushing, churning rapids make a huge noise without any melody or lyrics, and the title, "Roar," points the same way. The speaker envies that power and wants to let out "that music of anger" in the same unshaped form.
The mood is tense and restless, but also a little yearning. "Ache" suggests the anger hasn't been released; it's held in, wanting out. Calling anger "music" gives it a strange dignity, as if it deserves to be heard. The poem's brevity makes it feel like a held breath just before a shout.