alone and triumphant

where the water meets the sand
I stand
remembering the texture of the text
is a pale parody of the flesh
but it is all that is left
now that you have left.

or was it I?

purpose pales. memory fails.
and a ship sails
for a horizon undefined,
beyond the pillars where pillows
made willows bend in a wind
where we were twinned
and never sinned
until the silence was broken.

I awoke from the dream.
no longer afraid of a new religion.
a pigeon made a dove, made of love,
to crest the waves and wrest the brave
hostages from an uncertain fate.
waiting for hate, no more,
but a shore where the water
finds solaced blue
in the white sands
where I left my imprint.

alone

and triumphant.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.