Anathema Knight

Sing to me your Siren song
though it be minor key
let it weave its tendrils
through the fabric of my heart

the broken wing the furrowed brow
the tear upon the cheek
accentuate mere beauty's
pull and put in sharp relief

exquisite agony which
summons, nay, demands
an offer - gentle word
or sweet caress in silence

draw comfort from the singing
and the sharing of the pain
there's beauty in the caring
through the darkness yet again

in my soul I am a Knight
heeding the tortured cry
though tarnished is my armor
and uneven is my gait

soon, as ever in the past
the knightly caring will
turn into clinging pestilence
warmth quickly becomes chill

the tarnish will grow deeper
armor's metal brittler still
and I will lumber on my way
anathema again