Raging Bull

I am a raging bull,

a slumbering giant gorged on discontent,

having feasted on too much regret.

I hungered so I ate,

though the taste of it did not suit me.

The sustaining power had to be consumed,

until at last I could eat no more of it.

Survival.

But once my life had been bound in glory

A crown of fight and passion settled betwixt my horns

Bone and sinew waiting to strike

An unexpected hulking grace.

Alas, I have left behind my proud youth,

where once I thundered now I shamble,

hobbled by an inferior master that would see me be less than I could be.

Glory days spent in the sun,

spilling blood and lust upon the ground,

just me and my nemesis locked in an arena

where victory means life and defeat is death.

How far I have traveled from that place of renown to this land of purgation

where daily I am defeated by fear,

devoured in a thousand tiny bites by buzzing flies

that eat away my resolve to reclaim any former nobility.

Yet what is living only to die a slow death by aching degrees

buried under malcontent,

as the burdens of existence grows heavier,

crushing the life out of you?

It would seem more honorable to be granted a warriors death,

but now I am beyond choosing.

The septal piercing ensures that I am kow-towed into shame,

haltered and made to follow instead of lead.

My tongue lies thick and swollen inside my mouth,

dry as my dusty bones will someday be,

unslaked as I thirst for release.

I ache to be set free from the chains of man

that have claimed me as a beast of burden.

Time and endless toil in exchange for tasteless provision

that keeps me moving in expected patterns.

The bondage of my existence an unwilling form of slavery,

but it is all I have ever known.

Wake, work, eat, sleep.

The best that you might hope for is not to dream,

the desire for more burns in my gut as bitter as gall.

Why do I not resist the yoke?

Why do I submit to the rules of the weaker masses?

Allowing others to be the architects of my pain

rather than claiming my own emancipation.

Free will a shuddering apprehension on the other side of a brittle wooden fence.

the posts and cross beams are not what cage me,

for I could break down the flimsy walls of such a prison

if my heart were so emboldened.

It is fear that keeps me from claiming my own liberty,

when the known & the unknown are weighted and measured against one another

my mind seeks only the fetidly pessimistic permutations

that might see me fall lower into desolation

should I embrace any kind of change.

So I stay.

Wake, work, eat, sleep until I can conceive of something better.

Something less fearfully disconnected from my stayed and steady existence

that is so familiar.

Pain is known, expected,

received as my constant companion.

Without it I am alone.

So I hold tight to my rage,

my disappointment and my fear,

tethered in place by the phobias surrounding me

if I stretch myself and take a step outside of the path

that I have been wearily wearing down my whole life thus far.

There is nothing in front of me that is different than what is behind me

since I choose to take the same steps every day.

plodding along wishing I could be indifferent to my own destiny.

I am unsure if life has made me what I am or if I have made my life what it is.