Ravens’ Cry: The Axeman

The log fell in two, split by the Axeman’s blade.

His scars gleamed on his cheek,
beneath the raven-black, masked hood
— hot during midsummer, even at night.

Setting another log in the first’s place, he hefted
his heavy blade and hew the log in half.
The sweat flew from under the hood.

Lifting high his ax,
he strove it deep into the slice of tree
doubling as a platform, where the ax
rested, angled to the ground.

 

 

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