White Sunday XV

would you be among the witness
who see me off the edge
daring all to choose to risk the fall
on a lover's boldest pledge?

would you read the tattered journals
and the scripture of my fate
choosing love above the cowardice
that is born in barren hate?

I am not here to ask you anything
but to speak my mind and leave
I have nothing to make offering
never tasking you to grieve

I am just a wandering minstrel
who is not afraid to lose
speaking of the errant arrogance
in whom, for love, I choose.

you are goddess and the heretic
a princess and a dream
that peels back from me the memories
like a tapestry, at the seam

I am trusting to the precipice
when I conjour you at night
and I wish for you the sacredness
of the sacraments' delight


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.