a locked instant in the stream of time

A wonderful sense of yearning at the wrong time for the wrong woman.


and when at last passes this iota of remorse
for illusions held in fond remembrance,
do not judge too harshly the flow and course
of a sickly heart. do not acknowledge a chance
to taste the amber fruit that dangles so
unappetizingly before you, for the fire burns
deep valleys in the flesh and soul to show
to all the folly of a fool's desire as turns
a thought unspoken to the sun. cold shades
and blind parades of time we'll never share
within a lost moment. silence serenades
us for a moment. then I avert my eyes.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.