Sentinel

I stand sentinel in this, the most desolate of lands.
Barren of life, barren of color, save for the shades of gray and the hues of cold, dead blue.

The lands of burnt churches and lost faith stretch before me.
I am sentinel of the forest of graves.
The moonlight reflecting off their stone surfaces.
I watched this world fall into this wasteland of despair.
I watched it's occupants die.
I will forever be sentinel of this place for it is and will always be my soul.

A place of eternal darkness, cold and empty.
Forever unyielding, except for one small thing.
There is only one living thing upon this landscape other than myself.

A rosebush, with blossoms red as blood.
The dark stormclouds that comprise the sky of soul, break, allowing a single ray of light, to fall upon the roses.

The only bit of light I have left.
Perhaps there is hope for me yet.

A.J. Downey
07-28-1998