Thursday, August 05, 2010

White Sunday 31

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I surrender my will, seeking yet more
than mere arrogant posturing, the touch
of the divine. Shackles of pain are poor
purpose in the heavens' mystery, much
remains to be experienced. The sight,
God in the grace of creation, your heart,
manifesting transfiguration's light.
The power of love echoing to part
the seas of the tears and fearful distrust
built on the coward's easy perfidy.
I would merge with your divine, kick the dust
and find the most remarkable beauty:
You as angel and the evangelist
seeks only for the blessing to persist.


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:

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