Quiet Anger

The quiet anger is the most precise kind I know,
the quiet anger is the temperature that stays below
the audible and the visible and the recognizable form,
and quiet anger is the fury in the eye of the storm.

I have been the quiet anger for as long as I have been,
the quiet anger is the oldest and the most contained
of every kind of fury I have carried in the years,
and quiet anger is the anger that outlasts the fears.

Quiet anger, the fury in the frequency you miss,
quiet anger, the cold and the deliberate and the hiss
of the sustained and the low and the patient and the real,
quiet anger is the deepest thing I feel.

The quiet anger does not ask for your acknowledgment or proof,
the quiet anger does not need to blow the roof
off the house to demonstrate its presence and its scale,
and quiet anger is the fury that does not fail.

It does not fail because it does not spend itself in flash,
it does not fail because it does not go the reckless and the rash
route of the immediate and the hot and the display,
and quiet anger is the fury that is here to stay.

The quiet anger will express itself in the time and place
of the calculated and the chosen and the face
of the deliberate man who planned the moment to the day,
and quiet anger is the anger that is already on its way.