As conversations wear and time takes its toll; when novelty wanes and affections run cold; when butterflies struggle to find their wings; and I’ve lost my sheen so you see my sin— will you stay with me?
Bryant Vielman Bryant Vielman

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Piled about like leaves in October lie our affections, shriveled and frail
Bryant Vielman Bryant Vielman

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His resolve never wavered. He threw caution to the wind and proceeded full force, ignoring the danger. But his sin, as revealed in due course, was thinking he could tame her.
Bryant Vielman Bryant Vielman

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The aching of bone in winter’s chill, the lingering memory which haunts me still.
Bryant Vielman Bryant Vielman

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Poetry guts the heart of masculinity— my dismembered penis in a corner of the room, baring its teeth like a rabid dog.
Bryant Vielman Bryant Vielman

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What other recourse is there when zeal has disappeared? When passion her bags has packed and hobby, appeal? To where when dram no longer quells, and wings we used to soar no longer take to air but peak on valley floors?
Bryant Vielman Bryant Vielman

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I am allowed gardens to behold, but not gardens to tend. I was given a gardener’s soul, but not a gardener’s hand.
Bryant Vielman Bryant Vielman

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Writing leads me, with a flashlight in hand, on eerily deep descents— down rickety stairways and cold-draft corridors. Writing leads me, with a flashlight in hand, to the pits of my consciousness— the bowels of my being where light
Bryant Vielman Bryant Vielman

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