William Sinclair Manson's poetry

Darkness falls upon the village were birds don't sing anymore except the odd owl hooting  and the shriek of the rampant wild boar. The last person lived till ninety four the rest died before they were twenty caused by a witch burned to the stake in revenge she killed a plenty. Who was this woman? why was she killed? only a few had knew they say she practised witchcraft by night from her cottage kneeling down at a pew. She lived alone with her cat he was as black as night itself into the dark witching hours you could hear the devil himself. Smoke burns from the chimney stack beautiful, colorful lights to the naked eye one could see figures floating most nights. Tall figures, short figures animal like were born from the color of gold hardly a soul lived to tell how the story itself would unfold. What were those figures why were they here? only the witch was carefully informed all that was known that each new night figures were broke and mal...

I'm invited to a dark place I think that I should go nothing here to keep me no room to blossom or grow. A place  dark and endless naked bodies all around deadened eyes blackened void of any sound. Walking on for miles nothing can be seen touching ice cold humans were have they been? The air is full of stench nothing wastes away living on forever no one wants to stay. Round and around we go no doors open here just the feeling of remorse dread and fear. The only time it ends is if your lucky to see the light but there's always something around you can never try to fight. I'm invited to a dark place I think I will not go as witnessed in my darkest hour I will continue to grow.