I crave a cup.  a bowl.  a mug of your heart's steel.
unsheathed before by mortal or god for rage or lust 
of things both unneeded and forever unreal...
it is the quintessence...and the dust.

dreams do not stand before you and call the blade.
dreams do not walk or breathe or love you as I do.
and can.  and will, if given just a moment's shade
from the moon of pain and the stars that lie.

my words shall be eternal.  syntax monuments of you. 
beneath the tread of centuries, stone shall fall.
paint peel.  music rise to ears long deaf.  but now...
and from this night on...you are immortal.


copyright William F. DeVault