By: Shannon Winestone

ASHES OF APRIL

Ashes of April—farewell, goodbye…
You were my harbor, my city, my sky.

THE SAGE

for Himself

The voice of the sage rattles the mountains,
Sighs through the orchards, whispers with the rain—
Singing the songs of Israfel.
His is the hand that consecrates the wine,
Anoints you with aloes, baptizes you with fire.
His is the voice that echoes inside you,
Warning of me in dreams dire, saying,
“Run to the altar. Plead for your life,
For she, my son, is the siren.
And her song peals like a bell in the night
As you drown in delirium.
Run to the altar. Plead for your life,
Or flee to the mountains—bid the rocks to shelter you.”

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Shannon Winestone is the founding editor of The New Stylus. She admires poetry that is well-crafted, transcendent, and full of emotive power. Her work has either appeared or is upcoming in the following journals: The Raven Review, The Stray Branch, The HyperTexts, Ephemeral Elegies, and Merion West.