I did not find love

I did not find love.
it found me.
pounced on me from an overhanging branch of gloom
when I was certain of my death in the lonely forests
of tired hearts, fired in cold kilns by apathetic angels.

I did not find love.
it found me.
splashed out of the seas of fate like the first amphibian...
baby steps on virgin soil, toiling to breathe air it did not have to share
with the creatures of the past, but casting eye to the waters for companionship.

I did not find love.
it found me.
waiting for the connecting flight, DC to Tampa to Dallas to the City of Angels.
a long way from home to find home, but Odysseys are like that, with Sirens
calling late at night for you to run your ship aground where others were lost.


serenity

serenity is more than just a prayer.  it is a moment,
caught on the hands of an impartial clock 
and stretched to the limits of incredulity as we take stock 
of our blessings, knowledge being bliss
and all the warmth of a kiss 
better left for late at night in shadows regal,
where the moral and legal 
limits favour those willing to leap with eyes open,
but leap nonetheless, pledging better luck 
and stronger limbs 
to climb the rugged rocks that howl 
at our defiance as we climb towards the sky.


lotion

pour out a pool of soft luxury into hands waiting to caress you,
to impress you,
as you take your wage for your patience.
warmed by my skin, spread thin upon tired, dry flesh to smooth and soothe
and ultimately move
all cares into the desk tray marked "tomorrow".


bright nemicorn

I have never seen black radiate a glow of pure silver,
a proper halo to the halogen gold of your hair, sparing
my eyes not the blinding of the rays, praise to the designer eternal,
who found an unused blueprint that fell between the cracks 
on the sixth day, waiting for a future where themes had run thin.

inspire me and fire me, consume me with your elegance,
I dare not chance the decade's dance with less than a legend born,
I cannot make, from a craven snake, a goddess of love and laughter,
but in this place, and in this face, I have found my bright nemicorn.

illusion to many, delusion to most, confusion to those without vision,
love is a challenge to the spirit's true balance, and a river of joy and despair.
you taught me the purpose in those who had hurt us, where fate lingered
behind the curtains to draw us to roads merging to urge an evolution,
a revolution of our worlds to lay flat the mountains and sweeten the seas.

command me and hand me my head on a pillow of satin, still breathing,
but awaiting your artistry, your deity, in cutting golem heart for this soul, born
to your needs by a most wise God, for whom even the sorrow has reason,
seasons of pain and joy that, at length, lead me to my bright nemicorn.


on a rooftop on Brooklyn

on a rooftop in Brooklyn 
you caught the wind in such a way 
that your hair went 
from solid to liquid to legend 
and was caught by the silver trays 
on the other side of the snide silicon curvature, 
aperture set to catch the brazen light 
that dared to touch you, 
then realizing its impertinence, 
bounced away to record the instant 
for a future generation, 
allowing them to sigh as I have 
so many times when the wind catches your hair.

Barbie doll

There's a little old lady, just down the road,
who tells me, all the time, that you look like a Barbie doll.
And I nod and smile and ask her about her begonias
before my mind, as it does, wanders too far afield
and I start thinking of ways in which you are not like a child's toy,
and I must blush and excuse myself, as she knits her ancient brow.


I know not the road beyond this turn

whether paved and gently sloping down 
through forests filled with every creature 
of myth and dreams and gentle nature,
or rocky and steep and stormy,
this road is ours and I will walk with you forever, in story and in truth.

travelers of an earnest prayer...forgiven of our sins
and, like children, eager with a curiosity
born into us by the essence of our creator.
I will walk until you are weary, and offer up my chest
as pillow for your rest and cradle you in arms against fates' claw and tooth.

where the rivers block our progress, climb on my shoulders,
for I know the current is swift and the rocks slippery
and the sure foot of my pure thoughts of my mission
will empower me to bear you over, safe and dry...
unless you want to take the swim in a paramour's whim, to share the task.

where the edge of the world beckons, we shall stand and step
into clouds, proud to take us to wherever we seek our destinies,
for they have heard the winds whisper of your beauty and my oath,
and want to be mentioned in the minstrels' songs of our adventure,
our lives, entwined in what we find in all we dare drink from tomorrow's cask.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)