the Island of the Sweet Siren

A new muse rises from the sea. Mere mortals, bow your heads and weep.

The Island of the Sweet Siren

beyond the horizon she lays, south of the Pillars that stand,
challenge to mortal man and the spirit of discovery.
a lost continent. an island of dreams and magics,
where Odysseus would have laid down
had he but torn the ropes that bound him
fast to the mast of forethought.
and in her web of zephyr'd kiss I am caught,
in soft and hungry reverie that shackles grim
the passions I had sold for memory. leaves brown
fall and nurture the greens of spring, the tragic
invites the open hearts of lovers bent on recovery
of the purity of pleasure, south of the Pillars that stand.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.