Mark Hunsdon

(Phoenix, Arizona, USA)

Knight Of Noble Sorrows


The white of my eyes has been painted red.
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?
Maybe both?

Submitted: Thursday, January 02, 2003

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