My Life Poem by Devin Iven

This poem is the sum of my life.
'I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.”


There once was a boy of faith.
Raised to have no doubt.
Who always did what was expected.
And never went without.

One day, that same carefree boy.
As happy as could be.
Saw something deep inside the dark.
That made him truly see.

How brain washed he had been.
Following blindly, being led.
He took in the world around him.
And found his beliefs were dead.

How could he have lived this way.
Seeing everything askew.
Removing colored glasses.
And looking out anew.

The anger came then.
To this decimated man.
How could they have lied to him?
Bound him to this land.

A seething storm of hatred.
Of frustration and of doubt.
He could fake his way through everyday.
Or cut his own heart out.

The choices thin, the dagger long.
He dreamt it every night.
Getting out and living free.
Away from this false light.

But try and try again.
The chain that binds to thick.
The haunted man fell further.
Into this falsehoods trick.

Finally tipping the scales of hope.
The dagger looking kinder.
He carves his sins into his flesh.
A sharp, wet, red reminder.

His purpose lost, his soul betrayed.
He is a broken man.
To drown out all this sorrow,
He consumes all that he can.

Numb the pain, turn to drink.
The hangovers are strong.
Try the street, the drugs they sell.
Each night doing wrong.

Ever lost, and high, and drunk.
Anti depressants he begins.
The doctor convinced that it will help.
Help him numb his sins.

Realization crystal clear.
You can live a different life.
Give up everyone you love.
Or drown forever in this strife.

So he fades into the shadows.
Much more comfortable there.
Lear on the edge of memory.
For all those souls who care.

Finally free and stretching wings.
The un-blinded man steps out.
Never to return again.
To the hell he’s now without.

Now for every old friend crossed.
That same man picks his path.
Dancing around the questions,
And comments of his past.

Mastering the art of the lie,
To keep himself he must.
For every outsider shall see his face.
But only the one, that turns to dust.

-Deviniven