The poet (you know, William F. DeVault, the Amomancer, the Romantic Poet of the Internet) wrote this not so long ago, when depressed over his emotional isolation from his daughter and his former lovers.
ashes and aught
how hard grows a heart in silence
the violence of isolation
the absolute zero of self-immolation
and soon there is nothing but ashes
ashes and aught and naught
for seeking fingertips to hold onto
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
ashes and aught
Labels: 2006, Ronin in the Temple of Aphrodite 0 observations
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