The Last Knight
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An old man sat in solemn rain,
To hide the tears of ancient pain.
Eons watching kings tread past,
Destroyed by a dark iconoclast.
His rusted armor bore the blame,
Countless years of crude campaign.
The seraphs felt his magic blade,
But with each felled, a bargain made.
Each demon slaughtered, keen and cold,
Took broad allowance from his soul ...
Decades passed, his crusades bleak,
The aged knight waxed jaded, weak.
With each new evil he dispatched,
His soul grew smaller, less attached.
His essence dwindled day-by-day,
As will and purpose ebbed away.
Gone, the days of knightly valor,
Traded, thus, for ashen pallor.
Evil vanquished, life grew calmer,
Done, his need of shining armor.
Soul but spent, and evil gone,
He had no need to carry on.
Still, he strained to mark his worth,
A life of service, death-from-birth.
While frigid rain now hid his weep,
His weary bones demanded sleep,
But he'd not die here, sight unseen,
Without due honor to his queen ...
So, up he climbed, atop his steed,
For one more quest, her last ... "Godspeed!"
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Couplet - Any Theme, Any Length" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2020
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