Silent Hil

Long ago on top of a hill,
there was an act of violence that ended in a kill.
The death of a loved one could only be seen,
by the image who had done it,
or so it would seem.

When I was told,
it didn't seem true.
Though the one who was bold,
had the only clue.

So went forth the story of Silent Hill,
that none would believe.
So went the glory,
which he had achieved.
None would know the real truth,
just like the shooting of John Wilkes Booth.

The story passed into the night,
for one man's courageous fight.
To get the truth out,
not even to cry and shout would do the trick.
The story was left to be at what it was worth,
for the birth of the story,
would soon come back to hurt.

The story was big,
it just wouldn't leave alone the kill.
Just like a stubborn pig,
who hadn't had his fill.

So went forth the story,
through the mind of who really knew.
Then, on July fourth,
the story would start a new.

The day was hot,
the sun rose high into the sky over the bay.
A new day had begun.

So awoke the house
from its' slumber of sleep,
getting into a blouse
of soft woolen sheep.

Opening the doors to the creepy old house,
here came the person with the only clue.
The killer holds the knife true.

He crept into the room,
without even a sound.
She was in the shower ready to groom.
The shower curtain is pulled back
now....there is a wound.

For she can not weep,
the knife had dug so deep.
Into the heart of the past,
the story would forever last.

~ But...the story would bend. ~

The woman lay still,
on the floor in blood drained.
For it was the House on Silent Hill,
that had rights to the very last kill.