The Small Town

In the twisted woods of the damned
A small remote town outside of the view of commoners
Where strange activities happen none the worse
In the day time the folks are happy and gay
But in the twilight, things become worse than they say
The night gives host to creatures most foul
Demons not of this time or era
Shadows of the past, Perhaps gods of the future
Where one day a straggler poet, loss for direction
Sought shelter in the happy summer section
Greeted by the happiest of folks
Put up in the old hotel by the old woman host
Where he awoke at night to a glow outside his window
To eerie chanting in an inaudible tongue
Through his door they entered
The townsfolk in red cloaks and gloves
Their faces unable to been seen under the hood
Their chants deafening as he looked to the skies above
They carried him out into the centre of town
Kicking and thrashing, to the big tree
Set in the square of the town, a massive hole
Covered by a steel trap, with chains on either side
They held him standing up, as one chanted in front of him
Another language never heard before, and in the dim
He could see the persons face in front of him
All around, demons and creatures, vile and horrible
They pulled the chains opening the pit
Maggots crawling from it
Crawling up to him and covering his body
A ghostly apparition floating above the hole
The townsfolk now chanting in an understandable language
“Anima-Mortis, Anima-Mortis”
The man’s eyes still visible watching
Unable to move, completely encased in maggots
As the ghostly apparition sucked the life from his very soul
Thrown into the pit and the grate closed behind
The following day showed no signs
That a man had ever entered the small town
The happy people went about their day without a frown
Save for one new member of the town
A poet whole dwelled in the streets for something to write
The sun slowly falling to the trees
The moon giving way the most twisted of sights