William Sinclair Manson's poetry

Colourful  prisms of light set free from blackened cracked glass forcing the darkness to illuminate the scent of cut grass. She never leaves her home imprisoned by the walls no one ever sees her people rarely calls. A woman who once held respect worked in charity everyday a pillar of the community well respected and had much to say. Many years passed in her life tragedy struck many times family passed away, friends moved on her son sent down for crimes. Now her life was empty her interest declined by day nothing ever changed for her she was set in her own little way. Doctors tried in vain to get her to leave her house a frail, aged woman as quiet as a mouse. She felt she was misunderstood no one knew how she felt her illness killing her slowly of which she was unwillingly dealt. The fear to leave her house finally took its toll her heart gave up the battle the final drum roll. There were no crowds present just her son with a teary eye this woman who had suffered could finally say...

He hides behind the bushes spying on his latest prey who knows why he does it no one will say. A mind so torn with infatuation scared he will be caught remaining in his camouflage choking on his snot. For weeks he has been watching? his stalking out of control insecurities blind him dodging a Police patrol Innocent distractions fixated by his actions will he ever let her know? he fears for her reaction. Eventually she notices him glancing from the trees who is he why is he here? she starts to feel the sleaze. In the morning she opens the window blinds to face a brand new day when she closes them again at night he will not go away. In his mind this is innocent as he confronts her wanting to speak I wonder if she will think bad of me will she think I'm a freak! But alas the fear grows fiercer he cannot find a way instead he looms in the shadows at night and continues in the day. The stalking over takes him he cannot live his life he wants this girl so badly Will she be my wife? His ...