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1992-01-10
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67 lines
Knight Dream
by Andrew P. Varga
Copyright, 1991.
I stand alone
on bloodsoaked field
at cloudwet dawn.
Twelve thousand men at arms.
Each with a lance, a saber, or bow
silently marching.
No sound comes
from shield
or spur
or link of mail.
Marching toward me.
Marching, marching.
Led by a spirit in blackest armor.
Astride humongous night black charger.
Nostrils flare,
breath mists billow.
And silent hooves.
Coming toward me
ever closer.
They are here.
Oh dear God
This will not stop!
Ghost eyes gleam, it's visor glows.
Swift movement, glove to hilt.
The sword leaves its scabbard.
Sound!
Wicked sound
Deadly sound
Steel ringing steel.
Raised gleaming sword begins its fall.
Death sweeps down
and stops near my heart.
"We are yours to command, Sire."
Begets a deafening yell.
Of twelve thousand men at arms.
On bloodsoaked field
at cloudwet dawn.
I stand alone.