The Wolf’s Lair pt2 – a poem series

***

Dank smells of rotted earth gather about

To assail those pale sensibilities and tastes

Which dare to attempt entry to the lair

Of the Wolf, dense vegetation and heavy

Tree canopy cover closes in, shadowy and crowding.

*

The smells of putrid roots and decomposing leaves

Are more than some can withstand, confusing

For their green and brown death stench overpowering;

This is a place for savages, slave to naught but

Time, society’s ravages forever ignored.

*

Long has the Wolf’s lair dreamed after it’s dead leader,

His stone bunkers, so dank, erected amidst flitting

Wolfen eye fireflies which dance betwixt marsh gas bubbles

Bursting with stored up evil foetor, unleashed

Into the sluggishly swirling mists, enmeshing everything.

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