Time
There's some time-honored glory,
In the twisted roots of rhyme.
Etching out a story,
A shining in the grime.
A white knight haunts in death's delight,
What in life he couldn't protect.
She'll never stir again despite,
All the sorrow he projects.
The relentless trail he seeks,
Shall never become a path.
The scarlet of her cheeks,
A haunting of his wrath.
Life is lived in desperation.
Death becomes a celebration.
Copyright © Jenelle Spaulding | Year Posted 2005
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