A Yorkshire Poet Poet Free verse

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.

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