Dead eyes take everything in
Cross-stitched,  
Never open,
But nothing escapes its dead view
On the cross it hangs
Movement seen
Mind contemplates,
Gust of wind,
Old tattered clothes
Adorn it body
Silence is its terror,
The corn grows flush year upon year
Crows carcasses
Bones circle this tattered thing
Half buried in mud
Black feathers in the wind
No friend of the sky now perches here
Curiosity,
Playful,
Hide & seek,  
Children find the scarecrow
Open a button,
Hand goes in, a bird nest rests
Fingers indulge,
All that is heard is children's fear
As decomposing fingers hit the earth below
They run,
Breath heavy
Tears fill little eyes,
Darkness invades the landscape
As night falls,
The curious have no hope,
Its boots touch ground, silence is heard
As branches travel in search
Children's screams,
Heard but now to far away,
But there are others here
Burning the crop,
Thought unseen, Music hides
Cries of terror now far into the dark
An echo of what was seen,
Its veins penetrate the fertile earth,
Wheels expel air,
As music hides the terror yet to be seen
Three of fertile Flesh
The earth if giving will feed tonight,
As one goes in to the field of dreams
Where nightmares feed
Nails of thorn rip a silent throat
Only in there minds they scream
Crimson life upon the corn
The ground inhales
Nourishment for life next grown,
The music silences
Only the wind speaks, through the corn
As three
Now two
Where life was snapped broken shards
Litter the ground, a miss stepped foot
Low light not seen,
Impaled,
Upon broken life,
Now lifeless,
Roots do feed as life drains into the earth
Now only one
Alone
Frightened
Fearful
Of what slept within the corn,
No breath felt
As inanimate things don't breath,
A feeling of wetness upon there chest
What behind now feeding,
Fingers of branches Ingest
The scarecrow reinvigorated
No longer thin, gorged on life
As just
Bone
&
Skin
Crumple upon the earth,
And the scraps enveloped
This night, the field & earth feed well
As the crossed stitched mouth
Upon the cross smiles as a
Mouth stitched closed still got its fill...

Blank canvass,
Then colour brings it to life
Shades and tones scratch in to picture
It bleeds creativity,
Moments become minutes
Which consume the hours of the day,
A picture is formed by
Impressions,
Outlines ,
Engraving.
Life upon the page,
One last brush stoke, shading put there
Complete,
But what did my brush strokes create
A hand, as if  reaching out the page
Ominous,
Distressing,
Sinister,
Is what covered this canvas of white
To look upon it,
"Did my eyes deserve me"
Moving forward as if to clench
I move, but to slow
As what was inanimate,
Now paint drips off as it has hold
Upon my hand,
The paint seeps up as I am consumed
By the canvas
Holding on to the frame,
My finger scratch upon the wood
As I scream,
The terror frozen within the paint,
I am but brush stokes
My face painted on canvas
The hand upon my shoulder
I am cold now,
I am for eternity now the paints prisoner,
The hand is my guard
Such vivid brushstrokes
As if she painted fear upon the canvass
A master piece of cloth and paint
Not knowing I am trapped now for eternity
Terror painted within this frame.

Your almost like a magician who casted a spell
Few of the times it fell like hell
Most of the times I was foolish and dumb
And you would reprimand me as if you were my mum
The times we spent were joyous and fun
So thanks for the great run
If there were any other option I would only choose you
Cause honestly I know no-one else will never do...

I hate to say I don't care
But honestly life is so unfair
I dare not to say a word of more
Because I literally don't care anymore