Thee Adustable Knight


I adjust my face to suit you
Just a custom that I made
Sometimes the hours between 
Very gray, very green
Words come sailing out of the blue
Lose count of days the knights are spent
In battling time without relent
Oh my armor plate is full of weightless quest
Ever seeking fate glowering without rest
Where bideth thou fair paramour?
With hair of shining silk thick with Heavens Grace
What labyrinth must I explore
Mirrors writ to suit yore hand adjust my face... 




Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 577 times
Written on 2014-04-23 at 17:15

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Nabeela Altaf
Simply wonderful. As I said before, your metaphorical implications are superb. I will give this three applauds but unfortunately, I can click it only once.
2014-04-23