My private realm of the eternal fall,
Inhabited by knights and dying angels,
Reflects the movements of my weary soul
And comes alive when its affection rages.
My knights are ill, my angels are insane.
Their armour, shiny once, is stained and broken.
Fair ladies lie enchanted and enchained
By sleep - and they will never be awoken.
Deep shadows lie behind the walls of stone,
Along the valleys, bogs and tiny rivers.
Dark gloomy creatures roam the plains and mourn
So fiercely that bypasser hides and shivers.
My golden throne is made of thorns and blades,
My silver crown is forged of grief and yearning
My joy’s left far behind, my conscience fades,
It’s midnight hour, and there will be no morning.
My Realm
© Copyright: Lancelot, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112050508222
Свидетельство о публикации №112050508222
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