The Goddess Walks

I am still trying to figure this one out. But then, so is the poet (or so he says), claiming it came to him in his sleep and he still returns to it from time to time to try and decipher the images of his preconscious. In any case, it is pretty, and mystical.

The Goddess Walks

the goddess walks in her garden
unaware that the sun is waiting her whim,
grim moments lending impetus to joy,
a royal smile on lips known to taste tears.
some where in the distance, where dark
gives way to grey and time holds sway
only for those foolish enough to mark it,
a troubadour plays a sweet and barren ode.

she shall serve as sacrifice
when forgotten gods of love and lust
call for their avatar,
surrendering her heart
to rule a land measured only
in how far I will walk in dreamless sleep
between now and the end of all things,
making words into wonders for as long
as there is language for a song.

for sacrifice empowers dreamers and lovers,
that which hovers between birth and death
a baby's breath in colours resplendent,
transcendent o'er all things, even pain,
as the power of light and shadows
weaves threnodies into amomancies
and nothing is regent but her will.

for I have waited this long for this song,
this song of stone and clay and fire and water,
this song of memory and hope.
praying for transfiguration as an act of will,
left behind as the kill of a nosferatu's rage.
laying page to wound to stem the life
that shall not serve as Ouranos' legacy.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.