sonnet: the shame before the fall

sonnet: the shame before the fall

We will barely care to dare to recall
when regretful innocence seemed regent
what came before the shame before the fall
in a world swirled with pain once prescient.
An endless tenderness we'd second guess
taunts and haunts us when in our dauntless night
in the light we count our scars we confess
selling them off in strange bazaars, we fight -
we fight when we count fading suffering
as a nobility that stops or slows
the flows of wounded hearts from which we sing
patterned musicks and the magicks that glow
in the darkened corners where just last night
we cried out our transitory delight.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Kristina would say it makes her sad (of course, balloons and ice cream, I suspect, make her sad). Valkyrie would ask who it was about. Psyche would dissect it. Brigit would delight in trying to read it aloud without tripping over the more complex constructions.

Me, I know it is a Joe Gideon moment, one of those times where, with barely conscious notion, your craft and your inner self meet, shake hands and collaborate. One fo those moments when you thank the Almighty for the curse of wordflow.

It's good to be the king.