in the hall of mirrors: twenty

the apocalypse drips vinegar in the eyes of a bound god, fallen from grace and tasting the acid of his failures. impure, unsure and with no cure in sight for his blight, he rattles chains and leaves stains of his own blood William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

upon encountering wildflowers

I observe you in an filtered light, bright it still shines, but only in the hues that you choose to let your unique spectrum penetrate... the rest of the poem A poetic meander upon encountering someone unexpected.