Smith Rock was home to righteous folk, of honest work and vigor. Strong wooden houses built up strong along the woods and river.
By Matthew Martinezabout a month ago in Poets
The night watchmen clocked in a nine, the desk was broad and heavy. Chestnut brown scrapped up and down, the panels cracked and grimy.
By Matthew Martinezabout a month ago in Fiction
The day the Grey came into town it started in the glade. It choked the breeze and passed the fields; the farmhands drop their spades.
By Matthew Martinez2 months ago in Poets
The Morning Star hung high and bright. And came down in gauntlet hand, hard on men without remorse, the Morning Star would end.