The Knight
Pure, flawless steel
Glimmers in the moon's soft light
Blood lust slaked,
The knight wipes the blood from the blade,
The dark red stain
Contrasting sharply to the livid green grass
The knight swings the blade up
As he's done thousands of times
The niches and smudges of the blade
Aptly reflect his life's work
And, with a ring, slides it home
Whistling for his mighty steed.
They gallop over the downs
Fly into the hills
Until the stench of sulfur
Consumes the air
The horse rears,
And, although accustomed to danger,
Refuses to proceed any further
The knight swings out of the saddle
His mind clouds with thoughts of battle
He clanks through the hills
To grapple with his ancient unconquered adversary
The last worthy challenge
The dragon's mighty scales
Shimmer before him
Carefully coiled power
Which loathes to be disturbed
Arrogantly the knight does not turn back
But with a wild battle cry
Rushes forth to encounter dragon's ire
He dodges teeth and scales
And smiles at his success thus far
Until with a roar like a storm's thunder
The dragon draws a mighty breath
With its release
Raging heat engulfs him
The stench of his own burning flesh
Engulfs the knight's nostrils
As he crumbles,
Disintegrating into nothing.
All his victories do not avail him
He is no more than
The plaything
Of the wind