a vile attar

This poem spun off from a statement made by the poet in his blog about the process of being as truthful as possible in writing his memoirs.

a vile attar

Deceit is a vile attar.
Avatars cut to the heel,
sealing the cryptic stonework
with words absurd and brittle.
Spittle trails, the banshee wails,
and the sails are torn apart.

A heart pulses equinox...
locks piqued with unsteady hands
demanding the ransom lost,
tossed aside in pride or rage.
Waging a war for its own sake,
taking the waking to die.

And I, I am still aware -
faring better than I thought.
What I have learned I will keep,
sleeping on a sea of dreams,
reams of the truth unpublished.
I am better than I thought.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.