The Play Poem

I wrote this a rather long time ago and present it as is.

The Play Poem

We now begin a sordid tale
Of one named Fred of Rockindale
Our’s hero’s weak, and rather frail
All white, and pastly pale

A silly man, he loved to see
The plays that filled him with such glee
An actor great he longed to be
And live besides the sea

He knew the place where he must go
To live his dream, where skill could grow
A place where he his might could show
To France our hero rowed

The journey was so long and rough
But as he rowed, it made him tough
At last, when he’d just had enough
His consciousness was snuffed

He wakes to see a ghastly sight
Of angry men both red and sprite
Despair exudes as black as night
He wants to leave the site!

He hears the people ‘round him sing
The songs of angry men they bring
They will not be the slaves again
The people all are free!

But then he hears a song of she
Who’s fairest in this land so free
From castle dark the sound does sing
The castle of the beast

He rides up to the castle dark
And hears a song just when he parks
A tale as old as time’s first mark
Of love that is embarked

Confused, he steps around the wall
And sees a fight of snow and balls
A beast there stands up very tall
And beauty very small

Alarmed, he flees this freaky place
And flies like wind into Paris
To find his comfort and some space
With people of his race

But then he hears an organ play
A solemn dirge, not far away
The phantom sings of them and they
Who hate him all the day

He wonders why this phantom whines
Why does he moan and ever pine
A freaky man, and stalker swine
With plans of foul design

And then a voice as fair as snow
Out of the wind so softly blows
It flies and floats, and deftly flows
Though full of gastly woe

Depressed, the man escapes from France
He cannot sing, and cannot dance
For now he is oh so depressed
He’s in a darkest trance

Out of his mind, he walks about
And hears a strange, felinish shout
Alarmed, he looks up and about
He’s on the wrongest route

Ahead he sees McAvity
That monster of depravity
His teeth are full of cavities
His fur is full of flees

Now sick, our hero leaves the cats
And looks ahead and see some bats
He slowly turns, for he is fat
And dons his trusty hat

A village small he comes up to
To rent a room, its best if new
But many friends want to rent too
He leaves and thinks, I’m through

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