This poem is based on the play I made for my class. Hope you like it:
A clock had strike
When a boy in a bike,
Stepped into the shadows.
He walked into the meadows,
Of a concealed graveyard.
And so he moved forward.
When all of a sudden a lamp-post shone
Showing a bone.
But the boy named Mark, did not care
Since it could not scare.
But truly,
His own moving shadow scared him terrifyingly.
He stood firm and unmoved,
While his shadow lurked.
A hand was shown,
Coming out of a tombstone, headstone or a gravestone.
His shadow was like a clock,
Rotating and running around a block
Of festering light,
Shining so bright.
Speeding up time as he ran,
Spinning like a fan;
He made all the evil aspects
Of a graveyard,
Which nobody expects
To be summoned forward.
Thus Mark ran, attracting attention,
Including a recollection,
Of a moving shadow, followed by dead brutish things;
Whom had shinning rings.
He turned right and left.
The confinement
Which he attracted,
Still followed.
He kept on maneuvering,
Without even slowing.
Until he found an inconspicuous shelter,
Where he thought he could be safer.
But the shadow kept on attaching itself,
Onto its mirrored self.
This horrendous condition made
Mark get afraid.
He had no jurisdiction,
Thus his grief caused his aberration.
This delusion and this involuntary self control,
Gave him an unexpected patrol:
He span unwisely,
Which fixed time correctly.
Everything that happened before,
Had gone to the shore
Of fast flowing sea,
That dissolved every single, impossible and implausible
Events at the graveyard. This left Mark,
Alone in the dark.
When a boy in a bike,
Stepped into the shadows.
He walked into the meadows,
Of a concealed graveyard.
And so he moved forward.
When all of a sudden a lamp-post shone
Showing a bone.
But the boy named Mark, did not care
Since it could not scare.
But truly,
His own moving shadow scared him terrifyingly.
He stood firm and unmoved,
While his shadow lurked.
A hand was shown,
Coming out of a tombstone, headstone or a gravestone.
His shadow was like a clock,
Rotating and running around a block
Of festering light,
Shining so bright.
Speeding up time as he ran,
Spinning like a fan;
He made all the evil aspects
Of a graveyard,
Which nobody expects
To be summoned forward.
Thus Mark ran, attracting attention,
Including a recollection,
Of a moving shadow, followed by dead brutish things;
Whom had shinning rings.
He turned right and left.
The confinement
Which he attracted,
Still followed.
He kept on maneuvering,
Without even slowing.
Until he found an inconspicuous shelter,
Where he thought he could be safer.
But the shadow kept on attaching itself,
Onto its mirrored self.
This horrendous condition made
Mark get afraid.
He had no jurisdiction,
Thus his grief caused his aberration.
This delusion and this involuntary self control,
Gave him an unexpected patrol:
He span unwisely,
Which fixed time correctly.
Everything that happened before,
Had gone to the shore
Of fast flowing sea,
That dissolved every single, impossible and implausible
Events at the graveyard. This left Mark,
Alone in the dark.
