a lover's soul I'll never realize when lost in warm embrace 
that communicates the hidden whispers we would never dare speak 
for fear that there are those who would, in jealousy, 
trace our hearts back to us...and break us...for we are made weak 
by the hungry eyes.  iron now tempered in our most excellent warmth.
images that dance where harlots once lay with thundering prophets 
that foretold the coming of this wind...and the voices of depths
uncharted and immeasurable next to the stolen oceans of threats 
we made against ourselves.  idols now rubble that could not stem 
the icy-hot flow of passions and logic undamned by hells unknown 
to us or anyone who dared to pluck the fabled bloodgem
from the face of the sun.  and for which we atone.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)