The Wolf’s Lair pt 6 – a poem series



In the trees I saw it first, twisted arms

Of branches reaching to stark slope tops

Of mountain peaks looking barer than the years

Should allow for, a sickness spread too well



In the scents of the rotted soil, mulchy

And so far gone as to transcend mould, wet

Squelch underfoot with a miasmic stink,

The hunger from the marshland around



They follow, the wolves of heavy fur, solid

Muscles bunched under those thick layers,

Myself a new dream walking in their midst,

Their smells wholesome in this place; so

Terror laden.


I am but a man, a man of mortality, yet mayhap

That shall be enough, whence this dank forest

Has seen me and mine attempt change, long

After the bitterness has rampaged, revenge



Attempting to seek vengeance for wrongs committed

All those centuries ago…is pointless, a parody

Of what anyone could want, for evil begets evil,

The wheel of fate turning for the same, and I

Would rather play the game.


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