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building the castle
He lamented the hand
Fate dealt him,
Until he learned to use the hand,
To rape fate in vengeance.
He didn’t let vengeance consume him,
He learned to have fun with it instead.
He cautioned,
This isn’t another poem,
Its another draft.
He saved his animals,
Except for the ones he killed.
He had great compassion
Except for those he loved.
He spoke of himself in the past tense,
Getting ready for his eulogy.
He comforted himself,
That you can forget,
Without denying.
So he spoke his words,
Doing his best to forget the language.
He stood silent,
As others listened.
He stood silent as others questioned,
He stood silent
As they went away with their answer.
He searched out meaning
To put in the poem,
To make up for the meaning,
Which would be looked over.
He had the ego of a rapper,
But harbored some alien respect of them.
He was willing to reach out to those who needed him,
And he refused to let go,
As he pulled them down.
His grip was enough to rape,
If sexual organs were touched or not.
He pondered over a eunuch legacy,
And a closet,
Which had to be his castle now.
