note to self

can you catch the sparks my heart showers the darkness with
and figure out how to hold them between burnt fingers long enough
to draw the heat into yourself, giving sustenance and hope
when the house of cards illusions fail in the wind that blows,
low and slow and knowing that you did not expect it
to come today and take away your dreams of an uncompromised life?
live in love, give over yourself to the springboard cartwheel
that feels like nothing else in the universe you could imagine
without lying to yourself, trying to pretend you will make do,
and you will, for a time, until the crime of the falsehood
you have taken to your chambers opens your eyes with resonance
and you dance a practiced semblance of joy, but feel the hollows,
like swallowing empty spoonfuls of hot soup, unnourished and deceived,
even if by your own desolation and desperation.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.