Carnival of Lost Souls

Carnival grounds
Filled with sounds
Of many a laughing child.
Whack-a-mole mounds
Merry-go-rounds
Air charged with energies wild.
Cold, painted steel
Of the Ferris Wheel
Coloured red with vibrant life.
The blade eater would kneel
Before feasting on his meal
Of a wickedly curved black knife.
Dark and long nights
No living end in sight
The thick, grey fog rolls.
No requirement on height
To take a ride on your fright
Welcome to the Carnival of Lost Souls