Pondering the Darkness

There is a muscularity to this poem; a rage, a thundering of defiant fists against sky and stone walls, destined to crack beneath the assault of the poet. It is, on analysis, a statement of failure but one with a pulse, sort of a "the fates want me dead? let them try..."

Pondering the Darkness

we soar no more to shade the sunlight
burning our sweet yearning hearts.
parts yet played by those afraid
to be what they once were.
the darkness creeps while memory sleeps
and we are hollowed by the night.
the hallowed fight takes flight
and we are left to ponder the darkness.

wandering, wondering,
the ignorant thundering
words that in time will seem wicked.
veils we chose to wear as clothes
remain, remind and blind us to the light.
and we are sabotaged, the kick'd.

prepare for what is past to cast
a shadow on the shapeless walls.
our prejudice and pretense calls and falls,
bleeding in the pain we express, caressing
all with hands of chance, a stumbling dance
that left us grumbling in the memories made.
but unafraid we are, no time to ponder darkness.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.