Wednesday, 8 May 2013

Red riding hood another poem

Red Riding Hood once wore a dress of pure white
a little dove of virtue, that slept soundly at night
when the wolves howled outside
Red shut up her windows and doors so tight
a dress of clean pressed white now torn into shreds
lies at the foot of a stained sheet bed
the white now ripped up, marked with drops of red.
The wolf took inspiration from that red
left his naked new woman aleep on the bed
and fashioned a cloak of scarlet red
to cover her alabaster skin in the cold
for when the wolf wasn't there for her to hold.
Red awoke to the covering of crimson upon her skin
and the ache of her wolf's presence deep within
the cloak she wore with brazen love
a symbol of sin, of lust to the gods above
and the wolf he howled when he saw Red's cape
for she was his, and his alone to take.

No comments:

Post a Comment