Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site



A poem.


Submitted:Dec 8, 2011    Reads: 17    Comments: 6    Likes: 3   


Mists of past swirl through the minds eye,

Engulfed in darkness and fire I lie,

Sighing within the icy castle walls,

Cast in relief are the moments when the jester is present,

The last laugh is always his,

But that is his game,

Perhaps in the cold lonely nights humour eludes even him.

A fire crackles upon the hearth,

Her ladyship sleeps in her illness slumber,

For the king could not love her,

After what we did,

A sad place is this,

A lonely place is this,

Armour no longer shines here but rusts coldly and dirtily,

The trenches lure and shimmer deeply,

Arthur came to greatness,

Destroyed by his own son,

His bane,

His finest, most twisted creation,

Mordred kill thy father,

Listen to thy mother,

Kill thy father,

In the holy lake Arthur lies,

Deep bellow the white lilies,

With the blue lady,

She keeps him until the prophecies fulfilled,





3

| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.