Every day the morning sun,
Signals where I started from,
But moves are slow and hearts wont go,
Where all adventures stand strong
Lost will is hanging by a thread,
The sword of Damocles trims my head
To cut in half, i can but laugh,
As I long to join the ungrateful dead
The river Stixs consumed me,
Such story can i share with thee,
of moments in time, when life was fine,
And I could simply be
Such tracks are dusted from memories sake,
Paths now new adventures take,
to lands once old, now fresh and cold,
Till i find the morning sun is mine to retake.
Edward Ramsden
14/03/13
A poor attempt at some form of medieval poetry.
A poor attempt at some form of medieval poetry.
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