Beneath the bloody sky,
upon his mountain throne,
the Stalker waits for wolf-days
and his hands-of-fire bide their time.
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Meta
Art thou a poet at heart?
Used to be. Then I sold the heart for drinking money, and things started to go a little more smoothly.
If you put together a collection someday, slip a poem or two into it and use a line from one as the title for the book. At the least, I’d pull Beneath the Bloody Sky or Hands-of-Fire Bide Their Time off the shelf, and if you then hit me with a 80K words of Morlock, I wouldn’t mind at all. Worked for KEW.
–Jeff Stehman
Thanks–that’s worth thinking about. I don’t write a lot of verse these days: I actually wrote this epigram when I was a teenager (so fire was a relatively recent invention). But I must have a few of these in my notebooks. Maybe I can attribute them to some crazy Khroic seer.