Submitted by Anonymous
It shines like the beetle’s shell among the brush,
Entwined and wreathed with vines and leaves
Black Altar. Black sea.
Black land before me.
In moonlight scattered through the trees
In woodlands stirring thick with fiends.
I hear there’s one at every bend,
In every wood, on every land.
With siren-calls that promise peace
That lull from men an ancient frenzy.
Photo credit: Dante in the Dark Wood of Error, Gustav Dore