Desolate

  by Sam M. Phillips

  Listen unhappily to my thoughts,

  A desolate landscape,

  Navigation impossible,

  No stars, just shifting sands.

  Eerie sound,

  Keening cry,

  A pulse,

  Must try to take control,

  A hundred strides get me no-where,

  Sit and wait,

  Will I escape alive?

  Sporadic skirmishers,

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  Nomadic warriors,

  A clink of steel,

  A grunt,

  Blood cakes the sand underfoot.

  A destiny,

  A picture,

  A pestilent horde,

  Moving too fast to outrun.

  Worshippers around the feet

  Of a titanic effigy,

  Low drone,

  Lascivious and mocking,

  Pulled levers and a long, slow whistle.

  Thrown offerings,

  Bodies crushed,

  Mutant beasts,

  And broken fortifications.

  Brooding black peaks,

  A long valley slices between,

  A plane in a storm,

  Thunder and lightning,

  The gods are laughing.

  Carrion birds

  And sun bleached skeletons,

  Deepening darkness

  And a superior force.

  I let my breath out slowly,

  An unspeakable pleasure,

  In the face of all this.