Once

Once,

 In fields of concrete grey

He beat raging children

With fists of broken blood

And fire burned in his heart

With bruises branding his body

And he dragged himself home

To warm milk and cool hands

That could smother the pain

But not the flame

And late that night

In a bed of pillowed sheets

He thought of revenge

And did nothing.

 

Once,

On rails of frozen steel

He read words cut from hate

With eyes of unshed tears

And ice froze in his veins

With shards slicing his spirit

And he forced himself on

To strangers and silence

That could warm him up

But not entirely

And late that night

On seats that hurt his back

He thought of home

And felt nothing.

 

Once,

In a room of darkened damp

He scrawled down his life

With hands that always shook

And he hauled himself upstairs

To whispers and lullabies

That helped him breathe

If only for a little while

And late that night

In a huddle on the floor

He thought of screaming

And said nothing.

 

Once,

When all was over and done

He met a memory

And wept in her arms

And fire died in his heart

With the ice melting away

And the poison left his lungs

As they dragged him away

And late that night

With scars on his skin

He thought of her

And wanted nothing/

Reviews

[kahlen369]

I would love to hear your backstory for this. I've managed to form my own from your words, and I wonder how it would compare. I doubt i'm accurate, because my imagination tends to take me pretty far away. Still, no matter the story behind it, I can feel the man in this piece clearly. I love the continued use of "once" as a framing device. It makes me think of fairy tales, of broken dreams and lost childhoods. it adds a certain dreamy feel to it that adds to the power of the poem