Original Poem 2- Places

The Coal Field

Beyond old iron tracks,

You'll find a hidden path,

Of wicked green,

And withered trees.

At its end,

A strange land,

That bleeds shades of black,

As if the earth burned away,

And the darkness came,

To take its place.

Many hills were born here,

Lonely things,

Ebony giants,

Always close,

Never touching.

Edited-Version:

Born here

Like lonely giants

Always close but

Never touching

Beyond the old iron

Tracks, a trodden path

Of wicked green

And withered trees

At its end, you'll bleed

Shades of black

Like earth burnt away

Darkness is her name