The woods

They say something is dark down in those wood, cultists wearing sodden hoods, groves where empty bodies twine, with worms and dirt and tangled vine. 

Witches and fowls and roots alike, follow the souls that haunt the night, trees that block out all the light, malicious thoughts that do take flight, burrow in those woods. 

Emptied towns and broken doors, fences crumpled under the muddied moor, half submerged and half forgotten blood stained curtains and mattress cotton. 

I ventured into the thicket once, brave and young to maim. A young innocent boy, to anyone, fair game.

Walked the old forgotten paths, broken glass and artifacts. bodies resting deep under, minds awaken, not in slumber. 

They say those who wander here go insane, and only have themselves to blame, because at the heart of these woods there is something much worse

Than blood and bones

than abandoned bodies and broken homes 

Then souls and restless ghosts that wander

From one walk of this life to another.

Out of sight and out of mind,

The forest always stayed, 

Sunny trees hiding the within shade

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

And that’s what kept everyone away.