on white satin nights...
romance always seemed real.
gentle illusions...
something I cannot feel.
hollow and homeless...
burning fireless coals...
damned by my history.
damned by my goals.

I wish I could feel
something but pain...
smiles, not just sadness,
as the source of the rain.
why can't I touch love...
are the gloves really cursed?
is the guard of perfection
always damned to the worst?

self-pitying questions
that belong but to me...
moments that burn out
on the Avalon sea.
music and magic...
everyone can recall...
but I've never known them...
no soft spirits' call.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)