Friday, January 19, 2007

Unborn Years

Labels: , 1 observations

Written to his minor muse "The Lady of Pain", this piece is a meander that reflects upon the notion presented in his major work "I should have been immortal" that there just will not be enough for all the experiences and people one could wish for in this life.

Unborn Years

and the silent, sentient shadow of silence shall fall
over a sad seeming dream, woven of gossamer and cold tears
shed in precognitive memory of times that never shall
belong to me. times that suffered in the greyness of unborn years.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

1 observations:

Ms Peach said...

"woven of gossamer and cold tears"

This reminds me of predawn in the deep woods, daddy longlegs, damp moss, deer rustling the forest floor, angels and faeries, natural but aching loss.

Your phrase captures the tone of grief with understanding that life does go on whether we want it to or not.

2:23 PM

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