He comes to me, bloody, battered and worn
Helmet askew; once-proud plume a sagging mop.
His visor is missing, lost to the barb that was meant for his eyes
The dent on his breastplate speaks of broken ribs, bruised heart.
No shield in sight, shattered sword in limp hand.
Of the lancet he had carried, no sign.
A jagged shaft preceeds his advance,
The spear tip peeking out the back of his thigh.
Of the lancet he had carried, no sign.
A jagged shaft preceeds his advance,
The spear tip peeking out the back of his thigh.
The identifying colours, chipped away in places
to show the rusting plate underneath,
are obscured by the layers of dirt, grime and gore
Of countless battles fought.
are obscured by the layers of dirt, grime and gore
Of countless battles fought.
Shoulders sagging from the weight of pointless death
witnessed, some by his very own hand.
Feet dragging, exhausted beyond telling-
Of marching and running and dancing the dance of death.
witnessed, some by his very own hand.
Feet dragging, exhausted beyond telling-
Of marching and running and dancing the dance of death.
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He stands before me, unable to meet my eyes
Afraid of what he might read there-in
For every knight knows every princess dreams
Of her very own knight in shining armour
For every knight knows every princess dreams
Of her very own knight in shining armour
But I stretch out my arms clad in tattered gown
And hold his broken body against my own scars
Speaks of battles fought…and WON!
Love this poem..its awesome :)
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