Dark surreal tales: Horned Devil of dark
The statue stood, a testament to fear, A monster of dark skin and horns so near. No eyes it had, but still it seemed to stare, And in its gaze, the man could feel despair.
He thought of all the lives that monster took, The villages it burned, the children it shook. He thought of all the fear it spread so wide, And how it seemed to never die.
He wondered if the statue was a lie, A warning to all who dared to try. Or was it a reminder of a time, When monsters walked the earth in rhyme.
He did not know, but as he stood there, He felt a chill run down his spine so fair. He knew that the monster was real, And that it was still out there, somewhere, waiting.
The man stood there for a long time, Staring at the statue, lost in thought sublime. He wondered if the monster was a metaphor, A representation of something more.
Was it a symbol of the darkness in man? The evil that lurks in every heart, no plan? Or was it something else entirely? A warning of a threat that was yet to be?
The man did not know, but he knew one thing, That the monster was real, and that it would bring Pain and suffering to all who crossed its path, Unless someone stood up and fought it back.
The man turned and walked away, But he knew that he would never forget the day He stood before the statue of the monster, And felt its fear, its power, and its monstrous wonder.
He knew that he would never forget the warning, And that he would never stop fighting, Until the monster was defeated, And the world was safe once more
