Sorrow (Petrarchan Sonnet)

Sword in hand, the knight storms into the fortress.

Swinging his blade, he strikes fear into his foes,

Slaughtering them, savoring each of those blows.

Spearmen pawn their poor lives for his sinful bliss,

Seeing themselves fade out with the specter's kiss.

Screams fuel him like furnaces supplied with coals.

Songs of sorrow, suffering, stand out from those

Struggling to stay alive, to survive through this.

War! That mad game everyone loves to play

Only exists to bring death and decay.

Random slaughter serves nothing but paint knives

Red with the destruction of human lives.

Only a few can truly enjoy peace

Somewhere where thoughts of pride and control cease.