"Goat Trumpeteer"

dreams again, clouded with murk and fire,
so called the well spawn, sprung from inside,
deep regret slicing my arms to sliver, to piece,
wishes past and gone balled into one, rest in peace.

the dreaded name of glorified ache never rang,
but the ponds of darkness awoke me, the ills supreme,
they lapped at my river, they swamped at my bank,
these waters will never run dry for they never leak.

my eyes stayed closed as the world around spun dry,
I think the words were defendants, maybe witness,
to the stream of narrow trodden marrow pouring down,
through and past the line of request, toward excess.

simple pleasure all for nothing, fancy ideal truly shot,
ample desire so full of holes, rampant ice through my chest,
it all began oh so early, it all began all so late,
it shook me to my being, back from there I'll never wake.

maybe if I'd been loved through and through, held oh so tight,
maybe if I'd been shown what was right, wrong, what was right,
maybe if the beasts hadn't smashed all hope, my affecting weight,
I'd be whole, wanting and living as a true hope, not forged, fake.

a bale of hay bought for eager lips later burned, a block of salt,
ageless hours spent on growing, harvesting up the earth,
ample time in abundance to affect my growing shrine, my world,
but no, no time for the meadow, lying oh so low, no time for me.

I so the meadow, named as such after a photo taker, after a man,
a man probably better than what I knew, a man better than any,
compared to what I saw and felt, was told and caught, my life,
began, and ended then, so now I catch up and live through, tired.

trying everyday to find purpose past a reason to give in,
find a word of success to know I didn't fail, as shouts told,
loud storms thrown at my face, harsh claims and truths formed,
my insides so broken from doubt, sometimes I just want out.

waking is not so hard next to going to sleep, knowing I fail,
hearing those words, those claims, the hurtful things yelled,
knowing every word is true until I prove them wrong, false,
but until then I walk in the valley of myself and pray away.

sometimes I let the thoughts fall around me, let them take hold,
I see the world through different eyes, eyes I grew to push passed,
to swallow down the hatred for cruel acts, deeds and parts played,
when I look through those eyes I cry, knowing they are blinded red.

sometimes I fall backwards to those eyes I grew in order to live,
the thoughts of a slaughter so fresh, the symbols painted black,
directed at others since I couldn't kill what killed me, that boy,
the one that lived inside me before I knew the truth, knew no love.

the one that ate ice cream and loved his brother, held his sister,
the one that rode his bike and cut his legs bloody to learn,
the same boy that peed by a fence to save a few minutes,
falling deeper inside himself because life outside was all false.

how much does it take to show the words and feelings inside,
a few comments that don't hurt or take away the pain, make more,
why would a person do that and run along, faster in trying, alive,
while the other parts of itself were dying, what it had first gave.

the tears can't wash away the hopes lost to the years gone by,
no dreams of change could bring it, no words hiding how you felt,
they can't keep away the heart of the beast so burrowed, asleep,
from feasting upon your blood, ounce by ounce, daily, nightly.

all I wanted was some love, to know I was wanted, not thrown aside,
to hear stories of a goat cart pulled by string, to see a dance,
so called so many things and broken into pieces still being found,
I must have wanted more than I deserved, or more than he had to give.