a man of peace, brought to war with self
through pain.  the stain of his own actions
fading slowly.  no comfort for the damned.
cauterizing burns with futile majesty,
a travesty of hope.  I must rise above
the failing pain of an hopeless love
and accept the judgement of the fates.
hates learned in the silence must be
bartered for that moment of peace
that flickered when I heard her heart
again.  but there are no merchants
in the courtyard, and I may try too hard
to close the deal, place the seal
upon the grey gates to the rose garden
where the pardon is not given.  accepting
who I am, what I am and the final silence
with patience, love, and a charity born
of faith that for all my sins, I am
still a salvageable soul in some sphere.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)