My Poem.

Down the Rabbithole.

Alice, Alice, hair of gold.
put her head through the hole,
in a field, full of poppys
beneath the sky of shepards delight.

Alice, Alice, blonde and beautiful.
Sitting, at the bottom of the hole.
Waiting.
Waiting for the white rabbit to appear.
And to take away the darkness, and her fear.

Alice, Alice, curiosity in her nature,
finds a potion and wraps her hands around it.
'Drink me' it explains
'I will drink!' she exclaims.

Alice cannot move.
Alice cannot breathe.
The rabbit has appeared.
But Alice cannot relieve -
the amount of her air from her lungs,
not able to sing a song once sung.
For this rabbit as we see,
is not all white and fluffy-
but covered in soil and earth,
and looks as if he has been through years of dearth.
Glint in his eye, and scars on his fist,
this rabbit bends down for a kiss.


I stop here, for now the reader realises,
the rabbit is not rabbit, but a man society despises.
A man who traps Alice in the hole,
serving to fufill his sick, sick goals.