A Knight of Lore,
Once of lowly birth,
Wandered the paths of Albion.
The blood of many an evil doer,
Upon the now slate grey armour.
The call to arms all those years ago,
Written on his tired limbs.
His age unknown,
But no youth in his face doth show.
Weary he wanders the land.
Peace is his hope,
But peace there comes none,
Whilst the last of the lizards lives.
But this dragon he cannot find...
And then a clue,
The beast is near,
Nearer than he realises.
Is it within him?
Yet no blood of the reptile is within him.
He is just a human of low birth.
His training will give him the strength to fight,
'Til his bones lay upon the blood soaked earth.
The there it is above him,
That familiar dark shape.
It's wings stretched out in flight,
The smell of it's breath before it.
The beast lands before him,
And he readies his attack.
Another Day, Another Dragon.
This time he may not come back.
The battle rages for hours,
No quarter given and nome asked.
Yet there is no winner.
It's as if a spell has been cast.
Soon they stand infront of each other.
Both bloodied but alive.
Another Day, and this Dragon,
Last of it's kind has survived.
The Dragon bows in graceful admiration.
The Knight acknowledges the act.
They go their separate ways.
The Dragon never to come back.
The Knight returns to wandering,
Fighting for his pay.
Until his body can no longer take,
The blows that come his way.
Then one dusk in a chapel yard,
At a lowly grey gravestone stands,
A large reptilian shape flowers in claw,
To place upon the grave.
Soon after a noise of flight is heard,
The flowers left in place.
Underneath lays the Knight of Lore,
A peaceful smile on his face.
• All poems on this blog are written and belong to J. R. A. Gigney, unless otherwise stated.
Location:Henney Close,,United Kingdom
No comments:
Post a Comment