This is a mix of Sleeping Beauty and Rapunzel. I started it a while ago, after thinking up the first lines of the poem. It took me a while to finish, but I think it turned out fairly well...don't you? It does get kind of dark though...so don't expect little bunnies skipping happily through fields of golden flowers hand in hand with the garden gnomes and fairies.
Her pure white hands quivered above the sharp point. Blue eyes glazed with a film of blatant rebellion watched the perfect finger move closer…closer…ever closer…finally meeting the point. Then, the pain lancing across her consciousness, she dug the point home, violently putting herself through agony.
She watched the drops of blood roll from the finger…down, down…landing on the discarded golden crown.
And the blood rolls down
Slipping across the tarnished crown
From the forest, the man watched the tower, thick with thorns and roses. He had considered risking the climb to reach the treasure that lay at its pinnacle. He could see wisps of golden hair gallivanting with the breeze. Smiling, he unsheathed his blade, preparing to risk everything for an untried treasure.
Hand over hand, foot over foot; he climbed the thorny ladder, refusing to cry out when the barbs dug deeply into the flesh of his hands. He felt the warm, sticky blood soaking the front of his shirt. Still, he refused to cry. When nothing more than mere shreds of hands were left, he still refused to cry.
Blood slides down the tower walls
Watch your step or you may fall
The sleep claimed her, and she fought valiantly. In the end, as it was fated to be, she lost, succumbing to the sweet breath of sleep. She collapsed where she was, her head pillowed on her arms, the sharp spindle pointing at her breast. Golden hair floated around her back, like a cloud.
The bed in the room remained undisturbed, the rich sheets neatly folded, as they were the day that she found them. She had scorned them then, not caring for the luxury that was offered.
Sleep on silken pillow soft
High up in your tower loft
He reached the window, gasping with pain. His eyes remained as dry as ever. He pulled his legs over the windowsill, feeling the thorns cut his legs. He stood upon the floor, wondering at the sight that lay before him.
There she stood, inviting him with open arms. In all his dreams and fantasies, he had never imagined her as this splendid being. "Angel," He whispered softly, walking toward the stunning woman.
Greed shall be your end
And mighty wounds shall it rend
She slept, troubled by nightmares of evil creatures, tormenting her day and night. She moaned in her sleep, troubled by her dreams. She inched forward, closer and closer to the bloody spindle, coated now with the dust of time.
Her beautiful gown is faded, stained with drops of blood. The self-inflicted torture wends its way into her dreams, forcing her to suffer the fate of every man who has died for her.
Bearer of your parents' crime
You shall suffer the wrath of time
He walked toward the angelic apparition, oblivious of anything but Her. He moaned in anticipation of pleasure, reached out to touch this golden goddess…His hands collided with coarse fabric, cutting his bloody hands deeper.
Now he cried out, not in longing, but in fear. A grotesque figure stepped out of the crumbling illusion of beauty. It advanced, holding the only thing left of the previous illusion: the golden hair. Twisting the strands into a long gold rope, it looped the rope around his neck, chuckling to itself. He stood, waiting for his fate.
Golden rope 'round pale white skin
Time to pay for your lustful sin
She slept still, plagued by nightmares of demons and pain. Her eyelids fluttered as first one drop of blood, then another fell onto her hand. Alas, the hope was in vain; she settled herself closer to the spindle, and closer to death. She was covered in dust, the mark of time.
A hand grasped her wrist, thin from time without life. Lips brushed across her hand, leaving behind a glow that was life. Calloused hands lifted her golden hair away from her face. Fingertips caressed her pale cheek, staining it with the healthy glow. Warm breath embraced her skin. Lips met her own lifeless ones in a tender kiss.
You never know, what will be the end
Wake this once, but never again
His hands traveled down the length of the golden cord. Slowly, they found something other than silken hair: skin. His fingertips brushed hesitantly across the smooth, cool cheek. Slowly, he followed the path his hands had taken, planting each foot firmly on the lush carpets. He touched her cheek with his own and felt it grow warm.
Blue eyes met grey and he dared to look at her, to see if she was truly what she seemed. His lips gently brushed over hers. He breathed into her, and he felt an answering breath.
Sleepers wake and face sweet life
'Ware the constant dance of strife
She smiled at him and her slender fingers worked to undo the rope that bound him. The shining locks slipped from around his neck one by one. Soon, they were separate, and he leaned back. She looked at him through her eyelashes and smiled. He smiled back. She leaned forward and pushed herself upward from her makeshift pillow. Standing, she was the perfect height for him to hold properly and she took advantage of that. She tucked the little pendant of a rose that hung around her neck into the bodice of her dress, forgetting it.
He wrapped his arms around her, and she snuggled into the embrace. A sharp pain pierce her heart, and she cried out in shock and in pain.
Love or lust, or is it one?
For you, my dear, your chance is done
He released her as she cried out, wondering what was the matter. Her golden hair swinging around her looked so perfect and he had to smile. She looked up at him then, terror in her blue eyes. She glanced down, and his eyes followed hers. Spreading across the clean white fabric of her dress was a blood red stain. A bloodstain that grew with every breath she took, every second that she lived. Her eyes, only recently opened, closed quickly, shutting her off from the world, from him and from life itself.
He reached for her, to try and catch her as she fell, but to no avail. She slipped from his grasp like water and fell to the floor with a gentle puff of dust.
Gone again, slipping away
Her face takes on a tinge of grey
The tower crumbled, as the illusion of beauty fell, as the lovely woman crumpled to the floor, and as her savior threw himself from the tower. Grief marred the lovely forest with the backdrop of majestic and splendorous mountains rising behind it. In the end, there was nothing left but sorrow, dust and shadow…
Leaving only sorrow behind
Nothing beautiful, nothing kind…
Please, tell me what you think of this. I would like to know.
EvenSong
Her pure white hands quivered above the sharp point. Blue eyes glazed with a film of blatant rebellion watched the perfect finger move closer…closer…ever closer…finally meeting the point. Then, the pain lancing across her consciousness, she dug the point home, violently putting herself through agony.
She watched the drops of blood roll from the finger…down, down…landing on the discarded golden crown.
And the blood rolls down
Slipping across the tarnished crown
From the forest, the man watched the tower, thick with thorns and roses. He had considered risking the climb to reach the treasure that lay at its pinnacle. He could see wisps of golden hair gallivanting with the breeze. Smiling, he unsheathed his blade, preparing to risk everything for an untried treasure.
Hand over hand, foot over foot; he climbed the thorny ladder, refusing to cry out when the barbs dug deeply into the flesh of his hands. He felt the warm, sticky blood soaking the front of his shirt. Still, he refused to cry. When nothing more than mere shreds of hands were left, he still refused to cry.
Blood slides down the tower walls
Watch your step or you may fall
The sleep claimed her, and she fought valiantly. In the end, as it was fated to be, she lost, succumbing to the sweet breath of sleep. She collapsed where she was, her head pillowed on her arms, the sharp spindle pointing at her breast. Golden hair floated around her back, like a cloud.
The bed in the room remained undisturbed, the rich sheets neatly folded, as they were the day that she found them. She had scorned them then, not caring for the luxury that was offered.
Sleep on silken pillow soft
High up in your tower loft
He reached the window, gasping with pain. His eyes remained as dry as ever. He pulled his legs over the windowsill, feeling the thorns cut his legs. He stood upon the floor, wondering at the sight that lay before him.
There she stood, inviting him with open arms. In all his dreams and fantasies, he had never imagined her as this splendid being. "Angel," He whispered softly, walking toward the stunning woman.
Greed shall be your end
And mighty wounds shall it rend
She slept, troubled by nightmares of evil creatures, tormenting her day and night. She moaned in her sleep, troubled by her dreams. She inched forward, closer and closer to the bloody spindle, coated now with the dust of time.
Her beautiful gown is faded, stained with drops of blood. The self-inflicted torture wends its way into her dreams, forcing her to suffer the fate of every man who has died for her.
Bearer of your parents' crime
You shall suffer the wrath of time
He walked toward the angelic apparition, oblivious of anything but Her. He moaned in anticipation of pleasure, reached out to touch this golden goddess…His hands collided with coarse fabric, cutting his bloody hands deeper.
Now he cried out, not in longing, but in fear. A grotesque figure stepped out of the crumbling illusion of beauty. It advanced, holding the only thing left of the previous illusion: the golden hair. Twisting the strands into a long gold rope, it looped the rope around his neck, chuckling to itself. He stood, waiting for his fate.
Golden rope 'round pale white skin
Time to pay for your lustful sin
She slept still, plagued by nightmares of demons and pain. Her eyelids fluttered as first one drop of blood, then another fell onto her hand. Alas, the hope was in vain; she settled herself closer to the spindle, and closer to death. She was covered in dust, the mark of time.
A hand grasped her wrist, thin from time without life. Lips brushed across her hand, leaving behind a glow that was life. Calloused hands lifted her golden hair away from her face. Fingertips caressed her pale cheek, staining it with the healthy glow. Warm breath embraced her skin. Lips met her own lifeless ones in a tender kiss.
You never know, what will be the end
Wake this once, but never again
His hands traveled down the length of the golden cord. Slowly, they found something other than silken hair: skin. His fingertips brushed hesitantly across the smooth, cool cheek. Slowly, he followed the path his hands had taken, planting each foot firmly on the lush carpets. He touched her cheek with his own and felt it grow warm.
Blue eyes met grey and he dared to look at her, to see if she was truly what she seemed. His lips gently brushed over hers. He breathed into her, and he felt an answering breath.
Sleepers wake and face sweet life
'Ware the constant dance of strife
She smiled at him and her slender fingers worked to undo the rope that bound him. The shining locks slipped from around his neck one by one. Soon, they were separate, and he leaned back. She looked at him through her eyelashes and smiled. He smiled back. She leaned forward and pushed herself upward from her makeshift pillow. Standing, she was the perfect height for him to hold properly and she took advantage of that. She tucked the little pendant of a rose that hung around her neck into the bodice of her dress, forgetting it.
He wrapped his arms around her, and she snuggled into the embrace. A sharp pain pierce her heart, and she cried out in shock and in pain.
Love or lust, or is it one?
For you, my dear, your chance is done
He released her as she cried out, wondering what was the matter. Her golden hair swinging around her looked so perfect and he had to smile. She looked up at him then, terror in her blue eyes. She glanced down, and his eyes followed hers. Spreading across the clean white fabric of her dress was a blood red stain. A bloodstain that grew with every breath she took, every second that she lived. Her eyes, only recently opened, closed quickly, shutting her off from the world, from him and from life itself.
He reached for her, to try and catch her as she fell, but to no avail. She slipped from his grasp like water and fell to the floor with a gentle puff of dust.
Gone again, slipping away
Her face takes on a tinge of grey
The tower crumbled, as the illusion of beauty fell, as the lovely woman crumpled to the floor, and as her savior threw himself from the tower. Grief marred the lovely forest with the backdrop of majestic and splendorous mountains rising behind it. In the end, there was nothing left but sorrow, dust and shadow…
Leaving only sorrow behind
Nothing beautiful, nothing kind…
Please, tell me what you think of this. I would like to know.
EvenSong