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Big Bad Wolf
Cobwebs cloaking every angle,
darkest forest vines entangle,
only lonely loss is lurking
in it's mystic rustic workings.
Scarlet shining bright as evil.
Soft and gentle silken skin.
Sweet and salty, raw and bloody,
watched and hated and predated.
Salivating with the thought.
Tiny deer ensnared,
honey roast.
Come to granny little girl.
Come to meet your destiny.
Come to say hello and supper.
Come inside to me.
Every sharpened spiny tooth awaits your juicy youth.
Infamy and wide expanses.
Policies for all my chances.
Targets for my retribution.
Suffer is my contribution.
Vision under cruel direction.
Focus up your introspection.
Inside every soul and sinue,
I am lupine and within you.
Big bad wolf.
Apple smells and earthy colour.
Creaky wooden steps and door.
Grannys house, the mothers mother
now a stain upon the floor.
Suicide?
A piper pied.
Eaten by the beast inside.
Eaten by the giant hunter.
Winter killer.
Thriller.
Big bad wolf.
Chop chop.
Meat is up at granny's shop.
No one here.
The windows creaking.
Only breaths of wind are speaking.
Where could granny be?
Don't find out little girl.
Don't see granny
skinned,
in leaky bits.
Warm and wet the breath of evil,
creeping forwards to her neck.
Silent as a shadow's shadow.
Gape of disaster.
Spines of elusive pain.
Watch out...
and start scare, scream, flee,
and fly and fast and running free.
Faster than a cartwheel turning
Faster than a bonfire burning.
Quicker than a candle flicker.
Shadow fast.
Run girl run.
Sunwise over root and twig
and cracked wood and jangled leaves.
Each step of two pursued by four.
Heavy pads, and large and dim.
Thick haired, and wet with sweat.
Ahead in the wispy atmosphere, the woodman waits.
Hands on axe, two blades.
Strong and solemn, sawdust smells.
On wicked creatures he predates.
Of wolves and wood.
Like a storm ahead of thunder,
tiny child in red, like magic,
tears, exhaustion, genuflection
to the woodmans stead protection.
Saviour praised,
the axe is raised.
The evil is coming.
The chase is running out.
And with a mighty leap
and roar,
and howling pained cry,
the solid silver arc of dread
slit, in one shot.
Head off.
The wolf is dead.
Cobwebs cloaking every angle,
darkest forest vines entangle,
only lonely loss is lurking
in it's mystic rustic workings.
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