Friday, June 04, 2010

White Sunday VII

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memory fails me
at the altar where I kneel
my sins confound me
a past I can not conceal

there are angels in the air
without a thought without a care
and those of us of human form
must trade our souls to be kept warm

the visions recede
the incense precedes

and we are left to dance for hours that stretch to years

our passions resist
and then they persist

and we are left to pray to idols stacked like Russian dolls

you are lovely
and I cannot help but speak
words of yearning
the dream is strong, the dreamer weak


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"
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    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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