Sentinels

Tendrils weaving, clutching, gnawing
at the smothering embrace of dirt and grime,
reaching for a beacon of light
to secure their place in space and time.

Combed by a century of water, will, and might
seedlings, once screaming for life,
now bloom in abundance
under eternity’s watchful eye.

Up in arms, they stand cloaked in earthly bark,
menacing limbs in vigilant stance,
as if bracing for battle
to thwart their death.

Yet what, if not foolish, can such bravado be?
Two giants vying to upstage
their own crowning poetry
in myriad shades of smoke and green.

Like ice hushing a winter lake,
verdant temptresses seize time and space
dancing in the northeasterly wind
to silence their boastful stakes.

Now, scrutinizing their pose
I am struck by my own folly.
Why reduce their strength
to a banal show of vanity?

Gracefully, they turn a blind eye
to the one that disapproves
drenching me in gratitude
for my guardians, edifices of truth.

Sentinel Magic by John Behring, friend and gentle soul - 2018

My sentinels at sunset - 2019
Photo: Alina de Albergaria