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On the side of a hill in the deep forest green, tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground,
blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain sleeps unaware of the clarion call.
On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves washes the grave with silvery tears,
a soldier cleans and polishes a gun.
War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions, generals order their soldiers to kill
and to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten

Friday, September 12, 2008

Right Back Out

Sent "What the Sea Sends" to Weird Tales. They only publish a few poems, but what the heck. Nothing ventured nothing gained.

2 comments:

Stewart Sternberg said...

Good luck on the poem. I think the poetry in horror is always a difficult sell and sometimes a difficult swallow. Still, there is definitely a place for it.

Steve Buchheit said...

Stewart, yes it is. Although this poem is more toward the fantasy than the dark fantasy side of things. It's mostly the implications of the poem that dive toward the dark side.

Also, glad to see you here. :)