Noah Piet Poet Free verse

Confessing Loss of a Human Capacity

My memory of anger did not gently drift away
Nor found retreat to a lost or hidden place
Anything it was, vanished from a concept that without capacity, I could not begin to chase

I remember intent and something about holding it. Maybe I had drawn a trace;
I had grown tired.

‘Gratitude among silence,’ some call it a sign
‘Change your perspective’
'Change until you’re right'

But this is of whom I’ve become,
Quite the miracle of a wonder to be.
I know what I am so I must recognize,
I am less of me.

Flowing into a dusk that’s brisk with storming clouds that fly towards of what we want to protect,
Would I still also deserve the right?

For that extending hand grabbing mine?

Am I any less human for lacking a feature;
Is a rabid mutt not your dog if it stays away, whimpers and cries?

I don’t remember anger because I have to repress
the most disgusting forms of human life

I had to see some things I didn’t like

I do remember the better,
Where weekends once were awaited.
Now they found a new name
“Mass-shooting weekends”
I hated it.

We needed to know what to expect,
Because we could invisibly see the trend.

Horrors became mundanely clerical, while our systems recorded every action we unwittingly freed unto our competitor.
Christ, A.I. must’ve called us teach.

All the while, I had no release.
How do you explain a bad day
When lent ears can’t stomach your words;
Begin to fast while watching a friend feast.

so I demanded a dream
something to feel alright
I wished to enjoy being an uncle
But rather, triggers I didn’t know could affect me,
Came as reminders of the horrid creatures that are still alive
All of their sins I can’t unsee

After botched company group therapies
By and by, a hidden veil disguised truth where so many believed they were alone when they died.

I was with you.

I destroyed myself in part of a prayer;
Mass layoffs, lost contracts,
Functioning better,
A bittersweet answer,
Alone but alive.

I destroyed
I lost
I survived

If there be wrath within your aim,
I promise your fury shall never reach of what had been told to me, as to what had been mine

I don’t remember anger,
So am I still really me?

Or is it that my worry
has coalesced into learning
That this is how the dangerous
Display and entertain
Playing the part to life
Of what it is
To be at peace

No
rather its the troubling idea,
of there being people
who cannot know
but hope
for such control
To be voluntary;

If dangerous men live peaceful lives,
When did this danger spread unto me?

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