The sky this morn is black with crows,

The rising sun an angry rose

Casts blood in petals on the land.

And I sing, to remember all I was

In another age, in another time,

Beneath a sweeter, brighter sky

When all the world was you and I.

 

White horses walked in sylvan glades

In days when knights could honour maids

And seek their favours in return.

And nought I sought in recompense

But ever fought in your defence

Long after honour was all gone

And long before I lost the dawn.

 

The twilight now, in softened hue

Fades all my memories of you.

Evening mist now veils your face

Treasured thoughts of so long ago

Will soon lie cold beneath the snow

In shelter from the wind’s embrace

To be awakened never more.

 

Night clouds gather, my day is past

I will take you to my bed at last

That part of you forever young

Though undefined within my heart

Shall be the verse of my last song.

And when I lose my final fight

Your wraith will guide me into night.

 

© Frederick Anderson 2016.  All rights reserved.  Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Frederick Anderson with specific direction to the original content.

 

12 Comments

  1. Great images! I noticed that you start each with a capital letter, even when there is an enjambment.. have deliberate a lot over it myself, and settled on small letters for continuation 🙂

    Like

    1. It is the traditional treatment for poetry that I tend to follow, I guess because I am sensitive to the emphasis at the beginning of the line – I would maybe not use it if a sentence continued throughout the stanza without a rhythmic break. But then, I am not a poet. I am simply a writer for whom poetry occasionally seems appropriate to a subject, an emotion, a lyric, whatever. Just as a teller of tales I am very aware of pace and balance, in poetry when I attempt it I am always seeking rhythm amd scan. I tend towards a natural eight-syllable line, too. I rather wish I didn’t.

      Liked by 1 person

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