White Sunday 84: psalm

that we make merry of our sin
breaking hearts and breaking in
as we don't know the alchemy of love

passions fade, affections grow,
we weep and reap what we did sow
and fill our hearts with what they're empty of

my vows to you are not a flare
to mock your heart and make you care
when all I want is pretense to my thirst

I'll stand alone in shadow's grief
and wait for you, as purposed thief,
and think myself as blessed, not as cursed

for you are worth the tidal pain
and worth again the martyr's stain
from orbits you have pulled me to alight

I'll lay with you when you request
and care for you, times bitch and best,
and earn the right to hold you in the light


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.