to a muse

In your best thoughts, where shall I stand?
Off to the side or right close at hand?
Am I your champion or chum for the fish?
What are your thoughts? What is your wish?

I know what I want and I know what I need,
I have stood for the good and have swallowed the seed
of a ripe pomegranate, to bind me to hell,
that blinds me to omens that haunt the old well.

If you had your way, would I go, would I stay?
And where would I lay at the end of the day?
Would I be your comfort, your captain, your slave?
The prince of the prophets or a sinister knave?

I am asking for visions that I deserve to see,
what would you give and then take back from me
if you and I both were allowed to live free
on the cracked, salty path that winds up from the sea.

If you had but one kiss, but one path to walk,
would you give me your all or even stop, just to talk
of what might have been if we'd met down they way,
if we'd taken the time to confront yesterday?

I know not the answers, but I know how I feel
when I think of what is and what was and unseal
the shadowy rooms where you once stopped to play
in my castle of dreams that you passed, 'long the way.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.