Tuesday, April 21, 2009

White Sunday II

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nails into wood
nails into flesh
the strangest meetings made to mesh
in pain and regret, the stain of a sweat
beyond prophecies and made mysteries.
the deserts fade
the deserts fail
to break the spirit of a dream that doesn’t pale
next to the cold shroud, the veil of a cloud
that now will descend a faith to defend.
we bend our will
we bend our whim
and find that we are mere mortals against daemons grim
that make us believe and forget to receive
a sacrament taste of a lover displaced.

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

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    Explaining the Tags

    You will note, gentle reader, that all works under this blog now display "tags" to help classify and assign the works for your review and enjoyment.

    These largely fall into 4 categories:

    Year of writing, e.g. "1999"
    Book published in, e.g. "from an unexpected quarter"
    Inspiring muse, e.g. "Aubergine"
    Genre, e.g. "erotica"

    We are still in the process of cleaning up the tags, so please bear with us. Yes, some muses are classified under more than one tag, some poems appear in more than one book, or not yet in any volume, and some years are...hazy.
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