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A Strange and yet Demented Fairy Tale by:BlueLinn |
by Plyn | All children come hither, and I'll tell you the truth.
That the wicked witch did not wither,
And there is no good fairy of the tooth.
All yee, who are aged, and adult, do you know?
What dwells far within the pages so old?
Nay no truth, will you dare face,
But here I offer, the last truthful trace.
Of fairytales and nursery rhymes,
Do you remember naught.
Well I'll tell you my dears,
What you have forgot.
Those tales, spun of happy endings and a hero for hire,
To rescue those damsels caught high up in a spire.
My dear little child, tis nothing you can change,
For all that is and was, is far beyond your range.
The hero was a devil, a dastardly brute,
And the damsel he himself caught,
And is so frightened she's mute.
There was no witch to lock Rapunzel in her tower,
No, twas the hero who called for her hair that hour.
The witch was no more, than her kindly godmother,
Whom the hero questioned then who's house he did plunder.
The tower was no more than the girls sunlit garden,
Which the hero did destroy and did not even say 'pardon',
For frisking her away.
Twas no more than kidnapping that happened that day.
The brothers Grim first had it right,
When that hero did loose his sight,
For being originally pushed from such great a height.
By no other than she, the fair maid of the tower,
Who found the hero, mean tempered and sour.
Ah, but for wanton rhymes we do fold,
For now tis the tale which must be told.
The fairytales we do put aside for now,
As we tell of the dead who scream out ‘How Now?’.
Hush, do not be in despair,
Though there is no hero for hire, with fine wavy hair.
There is however a tiny child,
Whom at this moment is so soft and mild.
However cunning the child may be for this time,
In a mere second we shall come to find.
This child has no place, in this world my dears,
And so shall disappear into shadows greatest fears.
The nurse in a dress so milky white,
Shall take up the babe and disperse from sight,
To a cavern far bellow.
The setting was once a nursery of stone,
But now is a dungeon where she leaves the child all alone.
The rats of the small castle do crawl,
From out of their holes within the stone wall.
They sniff around for a bit of food,
But are scared away by a cat all too soon.
A child, of six appears from the shadows,
And picks up the bundle and goes out by the gallows.
The boy of six casts a tiny look upon the babe he has found,
His orders are for the babe to be drown.
But perhaps, tis sympathy that saved the mere child that day,
For the boy did find that death was not the way.
Through the streets the urchin does run,
The child seems to him to weigh a ton.
So setting the child down, upon a stoop.
Of a poor little hovel as the guard passes through.
But the child's destiny is far better than that,
And one of the guards picks up the child as along they do pass.
And then after that, by some mere happenstance.
The child is given to a lady with a lance.
She holds the child within her armored arms,
And passes him along to a man who owns a gathering of farms.
Now he to his wife this child is brought.
And the origins of this babe is all but forgot.
Now years will go pass and this child has grown.
To a stout young lad with a mind of his own.
He in turn leaves the farm which he has known.
To search out adventure, as all stories go.
He gathers a sword on this journey he creates.
And joining a knight he soon relates, how he came to be.
Now the knight is the urchin and grown up in his own,
And helps the lad out in his own curtious tone.
With the Knights help the lad enters within the service of the same castle of his birth.
And with a lie he gains access to the church.
Higher and higher this young lad conspires,
And into the castle he wills his way higher.
Through circumstance and happen chance he finds his true mama.
And she to him then soon relates his heritage and wondrous estate.
So with only a bit more of this intriguing conspiracy,
The lad soon meets the man who sits on his father's throne,
And with a little here say and shadowed in blood the man is gone within his tomb.
The lad then a king, he soon becomes. The ruler of all that shall ever be and was.
So all children go hither, there is no more to this tale.
But he who has once had, shall soon have again as this lad.
From prince, to pauper, from guard to king.
Then all shall remember this lad with a ring.
With the semblance of memory, this tale matters not,
For in the end, were all forgot.
So this little rhyme concludes our mail,
Just remember it ends as a happy fairy tale.
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