The Bluestone Review 2025

Children’s Section

Children of the Fields Madalynn Gwisdalla All day, every night, The wretched emotion, titled terror. Expressions of endless misery, Pleading that it’ll be different

tomorrow. Dreaded feelings fill their souls to the brim. Sweat running down their malnourished bodies. Fatigued little darlings, laid out upon the once lively field, Now with countless souls forever lost in the blistering heat. The tall, brooding figure lashed his torture instrument, Like a vicious dog, barking orders at the fragile fatigued. The trapped beings wept in envy as the lost souls fly up beyond the moon, Their milky soft wings carrying them up above. Finally free from the scorching flames of Hell’s grasp. Yet again, the blanket of night tucking them in, but for eternal rest, Though the last time different, they were finally able to sleep with peace.

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