Cursed with the words - 
you always drop the ball 
manage to bollix up the works 
you wind up fulfilling the envisioned role 
get up to the summit 
victory in sight, then down 
through self-sabotaging trap doors 
materialized to assist the spell 

happens when another 
swallows up your vocalizing core
by trespassing on what's not theirs 
may never be found again until 
the mind rebels against the rusty bars, 
the slimy walls murk-wood forests of briers 
and thorns smith-designed to gouge out 
the identity to the oblivion of forgetfulness 
there has to be a reawakening
 
of who owned the winter hills 
and knew the backwoods trees by their names 
hearing your musical dream