an earnest hunger
in a bed of coals
stirred by impure thoughts,
raised to a blue white heat,
sweet,
a sheet made into an altar,
altering prayers of the players
to an earnest hunger.
a sacrifice to gods
that no longer are listening,
but glistening forms
transfigure meager measures
of pleasures
into something immortal.
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.
2 comments:
Love it.
But not as much as the one you just added to Author's Den ("passion, play").
I've noticed I tend to like your shorter works more - perhaps before they're more concentrated, and hence I feel they're stronger.
Just a personal opinion; then again, I've always prefered men of few words.
"passion, play" is wonderful.
Thank you.
before=because.
Having a slight "duh" moment here, it's been a rough day.
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