Poetry Friday
For giggles
A shining mourning
A white knight
Sunny flowers, soft and bright
A forest burning slow and black,
Smoke, rising, choking, crisp and fast,
Screams of terror from trees inside,
The white knight listens and up he rides.
Water, quenched but desire, thirst,
The white knight rides through the flaming hearse,
Crashing down trees, before their time,
Leaving lost in brush, cleared by crime,
And in the fire, where the spark first set,
A spring of birth, from pain and death.
-Witenite
