The darkness creeps up to the woods,
Pure, horrible and sickly fascinating.
The beasts whimper and scuffle away,
The nocturnals hunt, their red eyes shine.
Supernatural evils rule and roam the woods,
Their malevolent presence: frightening; killing.
Their sickly hair growing off decaying skeletons,
They are the Kings of the Woods.
But there is a tree they dare not venture to,
And that tree is sacred, for what lays on its feet:
Infinite wisdom, knowing innocence, joyful masks,
Carefree days, happy futures.
All of it is frozen, captured in the face of that boy,
His eyes stare at the night sky, seeing nothing,
His skin, full of life the other day, is deadly white,
His little hands rest on the grass dry from chagrin.
The moon and her eternal face cry,
For something precious has been lost forever,
Condemned to the eternal void, devoid of light,
A life, blinked out; cruelly ripped off.
And thus ends the story of one little boy,
The boy who dared to hope, dared to dream,
But Alas! He never will be. And the world?
The world has all but forgotten him.
Constructive Criticism is Valued.