into the wind

Couer rage, when you come down to it, is the only virtue of value, for it is the one that sustains the rests.

into the wind

your kiss is like the dew that forms
on the lips of a glass of ice
on the hottest of days
a tempting afterthought of relief
that there is hope in Hell
of a quenched thirst, a lifted curse
if only by the will of those daring,
caring to face into the wind
and take a little heat
risk a real defeat
for that is where the wars are won.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.