| Let's get epic. |


reunion in another sphereA thirst, sated. Lovers, fated by memory, a sacred song chanted, not recanted in hearts earnest and pure, where prayers belong and we are left bereft of joy to suffer for the moment's kiss.reunion in another sphere
An impure surety eclipses doubts, shouted in ancient bliss. A prodigal heart, parted like a prophet's path, dreams reminisce. A thirst, sated. Lovers, fated by memory, a sacred song.
Ritualistic mysticism heals the schism of pain long forgotten and forgiven in thoughts driven stark and strong, and we are left bereft of joy to suffer for the moment's kiss.
Robes of a priest, released


Commandment 6:It's what I do, he said, I pull the trigger now they're dead. I'm a bad man doing what you expect of me.Commandment 6:
It's what we do, we said, we flip the switch now he's dead. we're society caught up in our own hypocrisy.
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.


Thunder of LustI want to be the consecration of all your hesitation.Thunder of Lust
I'm not looking to seduce you or in words to reproduce you as a shadow of a light that burns so bright. I'm not heading for a showdown with my urges, dark and lowdown. and won't walk away if you want to talk away the night.
There is thunder to lay under as the light of heaven leavens all our baggage, for a moment, lost and tossed. I'm not looking just to use you or in words to ruse, confuse you, but know you glow, immolation worth the cost.
I want to be the consecration of all your hesitation


like a blossomlike a blossom in the summer's wind I see you as something pure and passionate warm and woven into the tapestry of senses, forswearing the defenses of illusion. I can see you, feel you, smell your essence in the presence in the creation, as a charity to me from a smiling God who sees the beauty in what you arelike a blossom
and were and will be, all as part of all. you are beautiful and precious, every petal. every tracery of colour and scent and touch. like a blossom in the summer's wind.
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.
| I'm a poet. Well-regarded, depending on which publisher, editor or cuckolded husband you ask. I don't write poetry. I don't do poetry. I coexist with it, some have even suggested I am poetry. I can live with that. I have to. |
Twitter is a free social messaging utility for staying connected in real-time.
JavaScript is required for this module to display correctly.
--
Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
--
Perfection is not the abscence of flaws; it is the presense of apretion for them.
Again, thank you.
--
-----------------------------------------------
God envies the poets.
--
Perfection is not the abscence of flaws; it is the presense of apretion for them.
--
-----------------------------------------------
God envies the poets.
--
Perfection is not the abscence of flaws; it is the presense of apretion for them.
--
-----------------------------------------------
God envies the poets.
--
"I'm selfish,I'm impacient and a little insecure.I makes mistakes,I'm out of control,and at times hard to handle,but if you can't handle me at my worst,then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best"
Marylin Monroe
Previous Page12345...Next Page