Pasture lands

I have your hands
 from a past you
 lived and it
 was medieval.
 ______
 I followed the course
 with those required
 tweaks;
 those visions of
 mass tellings,
 dark nights in
 mounting scared
 brides of satiny
 wastes for we
 didn't know
 any better.
 ______
 If arms are stretched
 to feel a verse of his
 call;
 I did the deeds and
 I begged not to
 fall
 why not throw in
 and rebel,
 my cut,
 my drink,
 my life drifting to
 the nearest man-
 ______
 For not,
 the speed of descent
 just can't hear
 god
 anymore;
 I hammer, a trapped
 beat in remembering
 you but why don't
 I despise you?
 ______
 I know I lay
 transfixed
 in somewhat fashion
 of your tools and
 dialect given by
 unclean dusty roars
 heard and echo,
 still,
 here,
 and I
 forgive,
 I think,
 as a layer of tick of
 my draw,
 ______
 tick
 ______
 I dressed and it's my fault
 ______
 tick
 ______
 I was the Shepard to lambs,
 come home
 ______
 tick
 ______
 Times further a loss never
 known in blazing reasons
 of my part;
 they say ancient views
 clog and I was wronged...
 ______
 But dreams revel my
 Staff and nipping pack
 A push to
 Pasture,
 Why wasn't it green
 And storm clouds lingering
 And my need
 To get home?