Medieval

My body is an iron maiden, sharp
And pointed pain that pierces through my back

And legs. What? Shall I slide down this rough scarp,

Attempting to escape my body, rack

That wracks me, in the hope that other pain

Will wrestle me onto another plain? 

I wrestle in my bed with no one, throw

The blankets as I turn and writhe and groan

And turn with tight-backed movements they made slow

Until the aches and needles throw their last stone

And I am pushed into a sleepless sleep

Discomforting my night until I weep.

The pain of spirit and the pain of mind

Arose and were resolved and humbled me--

The pain of body now has joined to bind

It all. How shall I be an escapee

This time? The badlands stretch and crumble down

Beneath my feet, beneath the star-dusk gown. 

There's a brazen bull that bellows through the night

And keeps the mind awake--I fail to pray

No more--I am the prey of pain's delight

In being senseless, pointless. It will flay

Me, try to slay me, but I will not slip--

The scarp is steep--I live upon the tip.

Finding a Place

What shall we do with this young man--at ten

Much more a man than men twice, thrice his age--

Who plays a manly rock-n-roll--his pen

Has written lyrics showing manly rage

Against the dying of the light--no less

Opposes womanly pop music--he

Will build, create with focus, fearlessness,

Declares all rulers "suck"--anarchic, free.

But where shall he emerge into the man

That is his destiny? This culture will 

Declare him toxic. Focused on his plan,

Perhaps he will ignore and then fulfill.

This boy who loves his father was born for

A balance made in music, not for war.