He’ll never
Say it out loud,
At least not to
Anyone but his closest
Friends and family
Members who agree
With him, but he
Misses the days when
People knew their place,
And he was at the
Top of the heap,
And nobody
Questioned it.
Their lives are
Based on beliefs
Rather than facts,
Following a trajectory
Of supposition,
Superstition,
Every move dictated by
Some unseen force,
Contrived reality,
Detrimental,
Unproven, unhealthy.
Foreboding,
Sense of uncertainty,
Perceptible shift,
Condition worsening,
Memories of a time
When it wasn’t like this,
Taken for granted,
Unappreciated,
Now mourned.
She says it again.
Silence.
Uncomfortable rustling.
All the things that
Haven’t been dealt with,
Exposed.
A moment of hope,
Something different,
Lost to fear.
So many things to do,
Each one seemingly
More daunting
Than the last,
Roiling helplessness,
Inner fallacies derailing
Otherwise simple tasks.
It was over when
He started spouting
Jarringly vituperative
Untruths and fabrications
As if they were
Empirical facts.
So strange to think
That there used to be
A bright intellect there,
Furtively usurped by
All-encompassing fear
And absence of love.
A moment when an ordinary
Human being can no longer
Contain the inconsistencies,
Succumbing to
Formerly hidden impulses
With feral abandon.
They all gravitate
Toward identical things,
Secure in their sameness,
Unable to understand
The wonderful diversity
Just beyond their perception,
Content to remain
Where they are.
It all happened so fast,
Nobody was ready for it,
As evidenced by their
Random utterings,
Contemplations normally
Left for quieter moments
When others aren’t around.
A woman walks through
The room,
Trying to calm people down,
But they don’t listen,
Uncertainty being what it is.
He can see that
She loves doing this more
Than anything,
A dream finally
Identified, acted upon,
Yet not quite what
He thinks it should be.
He says something
Unhelpful.
