The Adventures Of Red Writing Hood

Far across the mountain trails Running under the big blue sky Between the forests mossy veil’s A dirt road travels by Not many folks have sought to travel This road of which I talk about For now they only step on gravel There is no such thing as a road without So now this road is overgrown With all manner of plants and vines Not many travel down this road This road less traveled by They trust themselves and no one else They think they don’t need love They don’t believe in miracles They don’t believe in God They don’t believe in angels They don’t believe in make believe They don’t believe in true love spells They don’t believe in me For if they did, then surely they Would run about the road all day Shouting my name to the sky On the road that travels by What is this road And Who am I?

Just as he toddles and babbles and walks, My baby is off to the war. No longer is he sound asleep in my arms With dimples and smiles and more. His heart is so young, His years just begun. Oh what is this stupid war for? His complexion will wrinkle And whittle and wit. He’ll come home in bits if he comes home at all. Lord why does this war make little boys rise, just to force them to trip and to fall?

   Auschwitz was a Nazi concentration camp during the Holocaust in the 1940's. Over 1 million, 1 thousand Jews died behind the walls of this camp. Most of the people here were burned or gassed over the course of four years. Each year, this same amount of babies are aborted. America has become its own Auschwitz. They think it is such a big deal to kill a million people, but how is it okay to kill a million babies every single year?    This poem is dedicated to all of those babies who have been murdered by their own parents before they were even born. Welcome to the Auschwitz of America Where babies lives have little worth Pain goes unnoticed, tears are ignored Here in the Auschwitz of America Little hearts are poisoned Little mouths scream suffering Their lives are in the balance of choice Here in the Auschwitz of America When will they be liberated? When will they be freed? Welcome to sin, and hurt, and shame Welcome to the Auschwitz of Am

Blunderbore is a rather large giant His voice rumbles the earth And makes it quake The trees sway with his footsteps The dogs bark The cats hide All of humanity is fearful of this beast But alas At the end of the day Jack coo’s him back to his beanstalk And he climbs up Preparing for a giant night of sleep And we relish the quiet moment Only an hour or so Between the time when he falls asleep And then begins to snore

Scarlet blood on the battlefield Scarlet blood on the cross Scarlet blood on night’s moony shield  Scarlet blood on all lives lost Scarlet blood on sinner’s forehead Scarlet blood on thieving bands Scarlet blood on all tears shed Scarlet blood on killer’s hands Scarlet blood on children beaten Scarlet blood on wrong paths to take Scarlet blood on crucifixion But at last, on the third day… Scarlet blood turns white as snow Wiping all red that we can see So when it’s gone everyone knows That scarlet blood doesn’t have to be