Knights Of Mourning

How many nights of morning,

must a man endure?

How many mornings of night,

must a soul asure?

 

How many eyes are prying?

How many tears are dieing?

 

How many months of years,

have thine a witness been?

How many years of months

have witness been to thine?

 

How many a scornful lid?

How many eybrows raised?

 

Poke and Pry, the lidless eye.

Prod and Point, and cast your doubt.

Codemned to be thine own sty.

It rants, you rave, It screams, you shout!

 

Long look at last, on self have cast!

Seeds sown, have finally come, to reap themselve!

Aback, have been, for long, a while!

Now march,  you future on, single file!

 

Prying eyes, them blind to make!

Stareing, Gawking, you cannot take!

 

Crying eyes, you've found them out!

Falling tears, you will not doubt!

 

How many nights of morning,

must a man endure?

How many mornings of night,

must a soul asure?

 

I asure you none, has stayed a mourning,

while dreaming of the knight.
For to endure a night of mornings,

one must first endure,

the mourning of the knights.

 

Author's Note

Let me know what you think!

Reviews

[Joshua]

It is indeed a strange poem, the way that it leaps about, but then, that is something I look for in a good poem. There's nothing wrong with writing like that. Keep up the good work, very nice job.

[...]

All over the place, confusing, but well written and interesting.