The Woodland Burrows

The street narrows while entering the Woodland Burrows.
Trees as high as the sky, tower over the drive, invading daylight,
and unleashing dark night.
Frontiers of all kinds enhance the venture,
seeking explorers of every signature and ore.
While flashing lights provide assistance throughout courses of nature and twist'n turns of danger.

The ceiling turns a blood red, as black crow's of charcoal stone,
curse every which way, stealing all life.
With emotionless blank eyes.

The nightmare sets in and signs of death begin.
Wicked limbs of torture come to rise down this pathway of horror.
The hourglass runs deep, like the chills down his spine.
Sweat, cold and still, held his face as well as time.

Head spinning and consciousness's splitting,
he phases out with torque swerving about.

With moments gone, he wakes to the yawn of a distant fawn.
Still plagued by poured on sweat, he clambered along to face the
ruthless bark there on.

With retinas of desperation, he turns the ignition,
with hopes of restoration and quick transportation.
The street widens, as the atmosphere lightens,
and the birds chirp as the butterflies blossom.

A sigh of relief beckons a call in the forest of reckoning,
that scares all.
As the exit stands closely open to the wheel mans forthcoming,
a fast push to the gas spawns him out in a flash.

Eventually waking again to a friendly glow of the good life shown,
he heads for home where the Woodland Burrows never roam.