The Haunted House
It all happened in one Sunday:
In the fourth week of the month of May,
After I went down that spooky lane,
And stopped by the head of the lion with mane.
It was just a figure in an old, old gate
Just like our old holiday home’s gate!
Still it wasn’t as nice: shiny and warming,
But indeed: it was dusty, and already rusting!
The rust had turned its black to brown,
And it was hard to open, shall I break it down?
But the creepers; they were over grown,
So I stepped on over them and jumped, on my own.
It was an old Victorian house with thick vegetation,
Vines running through the cracks built a perception:
To go in through the half open door,
Only to find the living room with a dusty floor.
The furniture was old, way too dusty,
The metals needed polish for they were all rusty.
The walls had moss, and cobwebs dangling,
I was so absorbed that I didn’t hear the door slamming.
I turned around to find the door was shut,
I heard the key turn and it was locked!
I looked through windows, but none was outside:
Which meant that I was trapped inside!
I forgot: by the gate there was a note to be noted:
And it read: ‘beware, this house is haunted!’
My heart stopped beating and my legs were shaking,
As someone grabbed my legs and began dragging!
I turned and saw nobody- I had lost my senses,
My mom was calling when I gained back my senses.
She said: “c’mon girl, let’s have a look
At your new school with a Victorian look.”
08/13/2018 (MM/DD/YYYY)
Contest- The haunted house poetry contest
Sponsored by- Dear Heart
Copyright © Kaveesha Ruwindi | Year Posted 2018
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