VB ( / England)

When Lights Turn Off

When lights turn off,
Lions bite,
The darkness spreads,
Like a rite.

A ritual to be said,
Something strange and wise,
Leading to creepy creatures,
In this dark demise.

The movement ceasing,
The area so pitch,
Black and shadowy,
Like an old witch.

The trees cackle,
Entwined in lights turning dead,
The sheer coldness and chill,
Is least to be said.

For some things are unexpressible,
Just too good to be lived,
But darkness came and went,
Taking, but it never gived.

When lights turn off,
Fear struck into hearts,
Until the bullseye is struck,
Like in a game of darts.

Maximum points scored,
Not in game, but in fear,
For when the lights turn off,
Everything seems very queer...

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