Pinecone Hill This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

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Up on pinecone hill
The trees converse in strange, spiteful tongues.
Demons lurk in the plumage of absinthe forests,
Waiting, oh waiting,
For a delicate flower to pass by.
Verdant eyes peer out of moss-ridden knots and roots:
A devil’s sight and a bold presence.

Up on pinecone hill
Horns arise from mountainous pines,
Headstones rock in the shallow Earth
That separates our world
From Hell.
Rocks jut out like teeth in the riverbed,
And the bones of fishes swim among the banks.

Up on pinecone hill
Ghosts hold out hoping to haunt another victim.
Willows sway as the crunching ground stutters and groans.
Little thorns grow to massive stakes,
Piercing the world and degrading the air.
And up on pinecone hill,
A monster sits upon his throne.






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