A deeply dark and personal poem about never being able to escape the demons of my past |
-The Burning Home- by Keaton Foster Scream Oh dream Nightmare Made true By youth I did it No regrets Not a damn one I was forced Kindling Waiting to be lit The fuel A toxic stew Of terrible truths Between me And absolute darkness I had to burn it away Bring the light of day Into the depths of my pain From quite a young age I knew that it would be The only way That I would be free Not of what it means To be part of what was done But to be free from it Happening ever again All who have hurt me are dead So that I alone can live A secret kept A darkness I must lament No one knows They are sure that I am nice Such a docile man With a heart of gold They couldn’t be any more wrong I have no heart No capability to love An emotional void Filled with a weighted nothing I play foolish game They play right along I am just as incapable As I have always been The burning home Is where I once lived Where I grew up And where all that once Made me human died In a dream I can still see The epic flames of such forced change For me and those who were inside I alone set fire to the fuel That would burn far beyond all control They never stood a chance From creatures to dust From monsters to ashes on the wind There would be nothing left Their screams wake me Long before the end Of their begging to be Put out of their misery The misery that comes With being burnt to death Each night that finds me I see them I am further made aware I know of all that I’ve done But equally more importantly I remember all that they had done Justice was served If there is such a thing as justice For people like them As well as for a person like me… The Burning Home Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2012. |