cut

it's easier to believe the lies
the cynicism that leaves scars
deeper than any pointed blade
you drew across your skin to cut
the venom with your own vice,
slicing only flesh to preserve
the tattered soul beaten down
by those who believe control
is a virtue. but it isn't.


Wiliam F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

welcome to the carnivale

welcome to the carnivale
welcome to my show
there are things you've yet to see
and things you need to know

broken glass and moments pass
until you feel the flow
the liquid red that whets the bed
on which our passions glow

welcome to the carnivale
welcome to my show
there are things you've yet to see
and things you need to know

flashing lights, impatient nights,
the fires in the snow
the wasted curves and tasted nerves
of all our joy and woe

welcome to the carnivale
welcome to my show
there are things you've yet to see
and things you need to know


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

unafraid

unafraid. I want to live out of the shade.
where liars and losers and the lackwit bruisers fade
to ashes. where the deep, bloody gashes of trust betrayed
does not mean you must live, dismayed,
the septic wounds bringing pain those final hours
where innocence seems a handicap against the seven powers
now aligned in a mesalliance, the violence of silence
metaphor for more of the irony of emotional belligerence
that punches itself out like George Foreman in Zaire
before being dropped like a bad habit by those who dare to care.
all I need is a microphone, three words and the truth.
all I need is an earnest heart, these words to speak the sooth.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

an origami cage

there is the thought
I caught in my dreams
bound to the night
more than it seems
the riddle that rattles
inside me, alone,
prayers that disown me
my tears to atone
that trusting is really
an errand for fools
and nobody cares
to play by the rules;
the regent, the consort,
the fool, all agree
that there's nothing remaining
on the trencher for me
the feast is forgotten
the stains slowly fade
but in the scale of forever
a moment is made
between where we had started
and where we will end
like flowers, our hearts
but a season will spend
drinking in sunshine
painting the fields
until time lets us languish
and memory yields
yields to the fading
of flesh and of page
like fireflies captured
in an origami cage


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

appian roadkill

and what of brave, lost heroes,
betrayed and left for dead?
the roadkill of the profiteers
who send them, in their stead,
to earn a pretty penny
to turn a profit's line,
sons and daughters becoming fodder
for the spill of history's wine.