a duty to the heart

This is the 499th post to this blog, containing almost as many poems, now (there are a few inadvertent duplicates). The 500th will be the last for some time. The poet apologizes to those who are loyal readers and visitors.

a duty to the heart

there is blood on the altar to feed indifferent deities.
sacrifices of little consequence, the virtue of vows unmade
and made mock in whispers that echo louder than shouted truths
for they slide, as narrow blades, between the weave that guards
from shards of shattered illusions and displaced fear and anger.

I will burn the incense to purify this room, then seal it.
seal it in wax and sweat and words that turn regret into joy,
for in our hearts we make our avatars and they are immortal,
as are the vows of a priest; released, but bound by something
not to be unbound by practiced hands. we wake to memory.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.