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,

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.