Poetry's Tale to Tell

White Hood Gone Red

Warning: One part gets a little violent. Not sure if it really needs a warning but considering none of my other poems have had this kind of line, I figured better to be safe than sorry. Enjoy!

The girl put on her cloak,

The cloak her mother made.

Favorite basket in hand,

On her way.

On her way,

To grandmother's land.

The chilly breeze in her face.

Good thing brought her,

Favorite white cloak,

Just in case!

Into the woods,

In her hand,

Was grandmother's favorite goods.

On her way,

She couldn't help but think.

"Why was mother so quiet?

So insistent I take her cloak?

I would have anyways,

It makes me feel so safe.

Safe.

Is that why she was quiet?

Is this about the wolves riot?"

She shook her head,

"No, no, no.

We've been left alone,

And they've nowhere to be seen."

Little did she know,

They were hiding,

Ready to make a show. . .

She knocked on the door,

Unaware of what was in store.

Who opened the door,

Left her in surprise.

A charming young man,

With pretty yellow eyes.

In a deep voice he said,

"Please come inside,

There's much to say,

And not much left of the day."

She was swooped off her feet,

But everything changed.

Once she saw pretty yellow eyes,

With friends who were not her allies. . .

Her mother said goodbye,

When she gave her,

Her pretty white cloak.

She was meant to be taken away,

And not in a good way.

She would be eaten alive,

Before she could contrive.

She was to be traded for peace. . .

The next thing she knew,

Rolling on the ground,

Was her grandmother's head.

Her once white cloak,

Now a deep dark red.

She said goodbye to the traitor,

In her head.

It was the distraction she needed,

Needed to give her time to run.

His ears pricked,

Time slowly ticked,

And he followed along.

He grabbed her hand,

Why,

She and even he couldn't understand.

In that one second,

Time had stopped.

Their love for another,

Couldn't be stopped.

Now they work together,

Ridding the world of evil,

Stopping all the stereotypes.

They made a false story,

The big bad wolf and,

The innocent red riding hood.

All a test,

To decide who lives and who dies.

Her once pure white hood,

Now a deep ruby red.

She said goodbye to naivety,

And hello to the real world.

There by her side,

To make it all better,

Was the wolf,

Who brought them together.

Yet they lived happily ever after,

In a perfectly imperfect world.

He's the yellow eyed man.

She's the white hood gone red. . .

How I love writing poems of twisted fairytales! There's something so fun about turning it dark. Haha, there was one line I didn't know how people would react too, so let me know if the warning was a little much or not XD