Knight Of Noble Sorrows
The white of my eyes has been painted red.
by Mark Hunsdon
Horror of a tragedy and moments of dread.
Remembering the time, grief gripping my head.
Keeping hope alive; but no, she is dead. Day dreamers despair, a poet of pain.
Her beauty so fair with poise so tame.
What will become of tomorrow?
As I sit, my soul floods; drowning in sorrow. Could we be at the end of all time?
Or is this merely a grief-stricken rhyme?