Stag Mask Self
In shadowed woods, where myths take form,
There dwells a man who wears a horn.
The mask he wears, far more than art,
A relic used in rites of heart.
Its smoky haze a fearsome sight,
A waking dream and endless night.
Within the woods, he’s god and ghost,
A haunting figure, feared the most.
His visage channels primal dread,
A totem for the living, dead.
Unspoken rites in darkness spun,
A cipher between moon and sun.
An eerie hymn to nature’s scheme,
A living, breathing, fearsome dream.
Stag Mask - Anima
Stag Mask - Object
