Can someone please give me a dark poem, please?

Ahhh, look up William Blake's "The Poison Tree," especially.... Fannie Heaslip Lea's "The Dead Faith," or Sylvia Plath's "Mad Girl's Love Song" or "Morning Song"

Breath deep

The gathering gloom

Watch lights fade

From every room

Bedsitter people

Look back and lament

Another day's useless

Energy spent

Impassioned lovers

Wrestle as one

Lonely man cries for love

And has none

New mother picks up

And suckles her son

Senior citizens

Wish they were young

Cold hearted orb

That rules the night

Removes the colours

From our sight

Red is gray and

Yellow white

But we decide

Which is right

And

Which is an Illusion

Moody Blues - Nights in White Satin

He was weak, to weak to move, and darkness seeped into his eyes. He was fading away.

He felt himself go numb, he couldn’t take a breath, it was too hard…but he didn’t care.

He knew he was going to die; he had known for a while,

yet he never thought there would be no fear.

He could feel his soul pressing against the inside of his body, trying to escape. He closed his eyes, never meaning to open them again, and his mother took hold of his frail cold hand.

Within his mind, he wished her good-bye, and not to cry, but she would.

He wished he could tell her he would be ok, but he could no longer speak.

His heartbeat slowly faded into silence, and all was still. Suddenly his soul exploded through his skin like a firebird, and he was free. He spread his ghostly wings, and rejoiced in this newfound freedom. He no longer smelled the sterile stench of the hospital room, but that of a million dying flowers and it was glorious…and then there was love.

So intense, so pure; he danced in its radiance, and basked in its amber glow. Then Death appeared before him, and offered a hand. He felt as though he could bust with joy,

but there were no limits to such emotions.

He took Death’s thin hand, and together, they fell into the dancing spiral.

No more pain. No more sickness. No more nights of begging to move on.

Say goodbye to the moon, as it passes through the night.

Say goodbye to the summer, with its sun drenched skies.

Lay your head down beneath the old Oak trees; blissfully, silently, eternally, sleep.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

O what can ail thee knight at arms

alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has witherd from the lake

and no birds sing

O what can ail thee knight at arms

so haggard and woebegone?

The squirrel's granary is full

and the harvests done

I see a lily on thy brow

with anguish moist and fever dew

and on thy cheeks a fading rose

fast withereth too

I met a lady in the meads

Full beautiful - a faery's child

her hair was long, her foot was light

and her eyes were wild

I made a garland for her head

and bracelets too and fragrant zone

she looked at me as she did love

and made sweet moan

I sat her on my pacing steed

and nothing else saw all day long

For sidelong would she bend and sing

A faery's song

She found me roots of relish sweet

And honey wild, and manna dew

And sure in language strange she said

'I love thee true'

She took me to her elfin grot

and there she wept and sighed full sore

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

with kisses four

And there she lulled me asleep

and there I dreamed Ah woe betide!

The latest dream I ever dreamt

on the cold hillside

I saw pale kings and princes too

Pale warriors, death pale were they all

They cried 'La Belle Dam Sans Merci

Hath thee in thrall!'

I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam

with horrid warning gaped wide

And I awoke and found me here

on the cold hillside

And this is why I soujourn here

alone and palely loitering

Though the sedge has withered from the lake

and no birds sing.

John Keats

check out Edgar Allan Poe