Sentinels

With the heavens above, eyes perceive blackness below. The silhouettes of lonesome silos dotting a barren landscape gives way to perceptions of ancient obsidian obelisks, sentinels erected by the offspring of some long-forgotten civilization, sating deities of seasons past.

Against a moonless night, one can appreciate the unencumbered band of the Milky Way, glorious gold and white light from hundreds of thousands of stars, blues, oranges and reds, sparkling beacons of potentialities adorning the night sky.

I repose beneath a blanket of starlight, and the encircling melody of coywolves lulls me to sleep as I long for dreams of you.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Seasons

I face the storm as hail pelts my already-weathered brow, reminding me of the life I once lived, traveling at a hundred miles an hour with my soul on fire. My eyes closed in anticipation of the impending crash.

As spring approaches, the mourning of winter's end has begun. In summer, I stand alone naked, allowing the burn to continue unabated.

Spotting my image in the water, washed in its divine glow, my eyes meet my reflection, and we both take a step backward.

The epitome of life and death, or a reminder of the most graceful and majestic journey?

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster