Adam M. Snow
Fall Of The Once Rising Knight
Let it be told of the rising knight, as if foretold
upon a shallow day, upon this advent of May.
A treacherous battle looming, roaring of bloodshed,
left a stronghold knight among the many dead; not he.
Stained upon the white he bore, now dripping red;
standing alone a victor nor a hero,
a man not, but none alone.
In the wake of the love that cast him out,
in the wage of war, bearing shadow of doubt;
Is he the coming of death, or just a man?
Cursed upon trials to weak to stand,
forever kneeling; forever bowing.
An eternity to embrace the fall of man,
corrupted by the hearts for which he stand.
A stronghold, now weak is he;
the fall of a once rising knight,
a victim was he, till his final fight.
A knight of white was he now bearing black,
overwhelmed by the creed and strife he lacked.
Surrendering to his demons, his soul he gave;
to be a king, yet to be a slave.
Until the following advent of May;
to be born the blackest of Knights and the fall of days.
The end of eternity begins with he.
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