Bio

B.S.Roberts makes a living as both a museum curator and an administrative specialist at the University of Maine at Augusta. When not writing, he tends to be working on a degree in English, since—apparently— his diplomas in ethnography, history, folklore, and behavioral studies weren't enough. B.S.Roberts lives in Maine with his wife, daughter, tortoise, silver pheasants, and cats. He also happens to be one of the founders of Nat 1 Publishing and sincerely apologizes to the world for that fact.

At
long
last, we
ascend the
   mountain,  and break free
from the yellow plains and valleys
to reach the edge of the world above the jagged stones.
Below, the crashing waves of water saturated with the salt of a dissolved earth
pummel the cliff we stand upon in an endless blitz.
I can't accept it's come to this—
[Where is there to go
from here? How
can you
go
back?
Surpass
everything
you have ever known?]
Oh, questions, please just let me be—
My moment is now, and whatsoever may follow
will surely come.But a change has befallen me, shaking my persona to the core.
I stand and watch the sky sink into the azure depths
knowing I am prepared for what
life has stored upon—
my return
home from
this
place.
[Wait! It
cannot be!]
Before we depart
this sacred site, hearts triumphant
I fall into the settling morass of my wild thoughts,
trying to control my ego;force myself to desire a return to the mundane.
 Now alone—my fellow pilgrims have turned back for home—
I discover who
it is that
I am.
[No.
More.
Who I
can never
be.] I take a breath,
decide, and
take one
last
step.