The Cruel Gods of the North

by Quincy R. Lehr

Northwesterly winds
on a Wednesday evening
passed through the park,
propelled by forces
unseen but sensed
in subtle shifts—
a change in the clouds
or a hint of chill.
We said our farewells,
and you fell from sight.

I rendered the wreckage
into rough shapes,
a graven idol,
greedy and sly
with chiseled face
and chipped features,
a relic of rituals
of grim-faced reivers
and the lost lives
of unlucky thralls
on corrupted stones
stained rust-red
for the cruel, hard gods
of the cold, hard North.


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