Death's Splendid Gifts

Death and beauty were bound by love.

Its strength bore them two children in turn.

A prophet, intuitive and quick.

A defender, strong and kind.

Content together, all offered their talents so the world could partake of their bliss.

Beauty blessed creation, allowing all to enjoy its earthly splendor.

The prophet gave insight to decipher and atone for man's errors.

The defender offered courage and strength to the masses.

Death bestowed his touch to all, releasing them from life's toil.

Under their hand, humanity found constants, forever extant as long as man lived.

All inevitable, all wondrous and all binding.

From Guest Contributor Michelle Vongkaysone

I Had A Question

So I sought an answer. I looked behind silos, underwater, between the lines of out-of-print taxonomy texts. I branded objects as “right” or “wrong.”

That January I met a mathematician who studied knots. Like rope I asked, no, like string theory he replied. Then I wanted to know which planets may harbor life on their moons. He shrugged. Beckoned the waitress. It started a morally inhospitable year.

I leveraged my concerns. I was humbled by saplings. I began ending sentences with “in today’s world.”In December I met a prophet. I had been inhaling incorrectly my entire life.

From Guest Contributor, Liv Lansdale