amethyst shard

as the demons hover head for cover
I'll lead them from the fire.
there's no pleasure in losing the treasure
we won neath the sun of desire.

follow when you can, hollow out the man
and hide inside his pride denied.
you know where I'm heading don't waste time dreading
if my presence is what the furies decide.

quicken to the moments wept, the silence slept,
the silvered glass skies reflecting a perfecting prayer.
I'll make it if I can, and if I can't, never recant
the vows you made to your heart's departed heir.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

all the pieces are true, if you can see the colours and shapes of which they are made, and understand how they fit together, their metamorphic metaphoric meteoric trails across a sky burning bright with the airless frosts of the quintessence, captured and raptured in the religion of the dancers and the dreamers.