William Sinclair Manson's poetry

Colourful  prisms of light set free from blackened cracked glass forcing the darkness to illuminate allowing an aroma of cut grass. She never leaves her home imprisoned within four walls no one ever gets inside feeling bound by a chain and ball. A woman who once held respect heavily into charity by day a pillar of the community people listened to what she would 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 would get through to her at home she was forced to stay. 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 at speed 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.

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...