Where's the hand that was promised me?
To lift me up from the lowest grounds.
Stumbling along my weakened knees,
I rue the loss of a friend I'd found.
Recalling tales of a long gone past
In which I, a Knight, had many a quest
Of war, peace and glory surpassed
Accomplished all, excepting one little test.
Oh, heavens, why this mockery made of me?
My deeds were ever an honour on you
Servile, Oh Goddess, my prayer to thee
Why left unanswered in the winds you blew.
Fey, now my thoughts, as the wind ululates
In a pastiche of wolves howling in wrath,
This raffish being that I'm decreed by fate
Averring my way through this muddy path.
And yet, eyes closed, I still dream in glee
Of nascent thoughts and that which could be
And with a penchant to what you shan't give
I fear to wake up, and I fear to live.
This poem is purposely left untitled and with time I may add more to it, in which case the name would not be suited.