Friday, February 17, 2012

Poem: The Magi

Threads of Quan,
race and play,
flying through the cold dawn’s day.

Magi works his hands,
controlling them, like an artisan.

Shifting, correcting, adjusting the flows,
a flash of energy,
and his enemy goes,
up in flame,
down in ash,
the magi turns his attention fast.

An arrow lets fly,
whistling near,
the magi slaps it to the side,
just there.

Irises glowing,
energy surround,
the magi stands,
His ground.

© 2012 Clifton Hill, all rights reserved.

The muse struck again, but was captured and harnessed and thus a poem was scribed to the page.

What is Quan you ask?

Keep on asking, keep on wondering, or read an excerpt from my novel Veil of a Warrior and you'll get an idea. Which, by the way, is still being worked on. Time frames are always difficult when juggling everything else, but I expect to be done going over my notes for Felling Abberfaun soon and then I can tackle getting Hammerblood ready for his debut—whether it be by publisher or no.


  1. I didn't connect with this one as much as the blacksmith one, but this is good too.

    I look forward to your other completed works. Good luck!

  2. Thanks for the encouragement, more are coming. I'm really proud of "Blacksmith Tears" and it might be the best of its sort for now, but you might find some interest in the different stylings of the upcoming. Stay tuned. ;-)


Thanks for reading, now tell me what you think.