I’m invited to a dark place,
And I think that I should go;
For nothing here can keep me,
With no room to adapt or grow.
It’s a place of endless shadow,
With figures all around;
With deadened, blackened eyes,
And not a single sound.
Walking on for weary miles,
Where nothing can be seen;
Touching skin as cold as ice—
Where have these people been?
The air is heavy with a stench,
Where nothing wastes away;
Living on forevermore,
Though no one wants to stay.
Round and round the circle goes,
With no doors open here;
Just the weight of deep remorse,
Of dread and constant fear.
The only time the cycle ends
Is if you find the light;
But there is always something there
You cannot truly fight.
I’m invited to a dark place,
But I think I will not go;
As witnessed in my darkest hour,
I will continue to grow.
© William Sinclair Manson 2025
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