Wine and joy are completely forgotten,
As well as his armor and sword.
Alone he descends in the rotten
Mysterious dungeon. The door
Is squeaking with long drawn sound
For no one has entered inside.
The dark and the damp reign around.
The window is narrow and high.
His eyes grow accustomed to the gloom and
Through the dust and the web he explores
Some strange marks, emerging and looming
On the floor, on the vaults, on the walls.
He gazes at the marks’ interlacement
At those incomprehensible signs
And tarries for Death to embrace him
To enlighten his soul and eyes.
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Comments
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I found the slight enjambment in this piece a + and as well a - in the way that it formed in the format.
Also, I felt a couple of the rhymes were lacking, not that they brought the piece down, just by the individual words themselves.
But, I do like the ending of this piece. The emotional impact that it gives off and the visual of the last two lines.
Overall, it's a good piece, could have been better, but, as is, it's good.
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