Controls the Dark, Controls the Mood
There’s something here, there’s something here.
But it’s of the old, of the past, of yesteryear
Why does it cry, why does it move
Controls the dark, controls the mood
The doors that open, the stairs that creak
When nothing’s there by visual means
What does it want, what does it need
Ice in the room, fear as I breathe
There’s something here.
There’s something here.
There’s something here.
Copyright © A Yorkshire Poet | Year Posted 2022
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