In the Sphere of Venus I Learned War

The title of this poem may mean something to you, if you are an avid reader of C.S. Lewis, as is the poet (he named his daughter, Perelandra, after one of the British fantasist and theologian's books, as well as saddled one of his sons with a middle name from the protagonist of Lewis' space trilogy, Ransom). In the context of this poem, however, the title is not part of a complex answer to a riddle posed by Merlin, but a reference to the occasional battlefield of love testing of the poet's faith and resources. He is known to not be overly fond of this work, finding it too obviously structured to his tastes, but if only those pieces he adored survived, his catalog would be a tiny fraction of what it is.

In the Sphere of Venus I Learned War

I have not need of sword or shield
to make you fall, to make you yield.
Just look into my dark'ning eyes
and see the shadow there that lies.

For I have seen the heavens cracked
to bleed the hearts of those attacked
by memory, the curse of soul
surrendered to the whims' control.

I can heal, for I can feel
the jagged edges I must seal,
but you must dare to now reveal
the truth beneath the scars I peel.

Look you now, beneath my skin,
stretched taut and hot by guilty sin,
and yet I've yet to drop my quest
while pulses life within my chest.

I charge you now to bring your cup
and 'llow me now to drink it up -
your essence, presence, and your fate,
that I may merge with your estate.

Or if you lack the will to rise,
then do not tempt me with disguise,
for in my time I have grown wise
from facing fickle lovers' lies.

Please come a while and do remain
I've tools and jewels to soothe your pain,
they still are locked within my lair
for heart of gold - and not just hair.

Match me with each candored word
that I might find what was obscured,
a lover who has earned her right
to stand with me, against the night.

And we shall weave a curv'd sphere
that slips by sorrow, pain and fear -
a single thing, as we draw near,
that shows us life, in colours clear.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.