the bards always left them out
of their songs, they sang instead
of dragons and damsels and the
bravest of men; they forgot they
won their war with the aid of
the centaurs, the humans were
a woefully forgetful race --
they forgot the evil foe of the
blood spattered unicorn of
purple hue, flesh of humans
held betwixt their fangs and the
bones crushed beneath their hooves --
the centaurs read the stars, and
prevented entropy from reigning
upon them, next time they thought
that perhaps they should allow
the humans to be wiped out for they
created as much discord as the
harpies and the chimeras among
their own race; their lilt more dulcet
than that of a roaring dragon.
Linda M. Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. Her poems have been previously published in Magic Cat Press, Black-Listed Magazine, Bigger Stones, Vintage Poetry, The Stellar Showcase Journal, Ides of March, The Blinking Cursor, The Diversified Arts Project, The Railroad Poetry Project, Skive, The Scarlet Sound, Speech Therapy, Itasca Illinois & Willowtree Dreams, Dead Snakes, The Camel Saloon, Write From Wrong, Moon Washed Kisses, The Wilderness Interface Zone, Samizdat Literary Magazine, Danse Macabre, and The Horror Zine. Her short stories have been published in Carnage Conservatory, Daily Love, Circus of the Damned, and Linguistic Erosion.
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