Men in Private Worlds

never was the loneliest boy
or the ugliest
or the weakest
of all the boys
this one bends
over like a door hinge
to purge the demons
that dwell within
this one sleepwalks
into the night
on wings that
swim through clouds
in a nighttime sky
can't seem to get to sleep
the moon light wakes
and for a second I am blind
no one teaches you to talk to the dead
or how to respond when they answer back
in a world that seems no longer in touch with you.

but

They couldn't break me into two pieces
one to tie to the top of the cold mountain
one to tie up and leave in the cellar
to age
with the wine
in time
my tragedy becomes
divine
it erases itself
like so much chalk
that I choke on
I am smoking
the leaves like a sieve
down the sewer
where even a flower
can grow out of
you cannot beat me
I will regenerate
I kill the hate
that lets the phoenix
be slayed.
who will wield this
flaming sword?
will the game be played
will I be silenced
with a word?