sonnet: the nightmares

in the shadow of dreams we find our kind
reduced in our numbers to the few swift,
swift, cunning enough to take what we find,
making of it what is needed, a gift
to our nightmares, ebon coursers that race
to bring us to the brink of a madness,
madness that is unforgiving the grace
of our own best desires, the fires that bless
us and all with echoes of a worthy
leap, falls and faults and the failures that sting,
sting us in lingering bitter surety
that we have seen the sun, now receding,
but yet never conceding our soft prayers,
angels of light to conquer the nightmares.


William F. Devault. all rights reserved.