Anyone who had read more than a few of my poems knows that I had a terrible childhood. |
-Hate The Road Home- by Keaton Foster Down Across The spine Of spent time Over there There is a road One that I know One well traversed Every step Like a knife A well-used blade Inside this mind Each detail Fills the void Back So long ago When I was a child A forgotten boy Left walking For miles on end Escaping home Knowing That as far as I went Ultimately I would have to return Abused is this soul Broken is every hole Damaged beyond life Yet here I am Very much alive Those who hurt me Those who destroyed me All, since deceased But what they meant How they impacted me Is very much alive Inside my bones Under my flesh Part of this soul Hate the road home The only way to go Way back then And unfortunately now I could tell you Every absolute Each painful detail I know how many trees I know every damn seam The way the crown Of the long straight road Slowly rolls to the shoulder Each empty barn Every vacant pasture Each farmer wondering Why is such a young boy Walking so far home So much alone None of them Not a single one Ever dared to stop me They knew my father They knew my mother I can only assume That their silence Was justified by ignorance Over what those monsters Did to me and my siblings Hate the road home Never since the day that I left Have I ever wanted to return When everyone died When the monsters of my life And now my mind Left this world behind The home was bulldozed The land set ablaze Cultivated and then sold To one of the many farmers Along the pavement sown The road no longer goes To where it once did But for me That changes nothing Because the steps The curves The ups and downs Each line and crack All of it is exactly the same Hate the road home Back that way I’ll never go I’ve walked it too much I fear that I’ve made that journey More than anyone ever should… Hate The Road Home Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014. |