FROM THE POETRY ALBUM: BELIEVERS TO THE GOLDEN RETRIEVERS
V. The Green Knight
PREFACE
All the knights gathered up at christmastide,
in the gloriest hall of Camelot, with festive-like eyes,
and fellowship was timed with jousting and carol-dancing,
the fearless noise of peers and women all distracted the night!
Then came a hissing knight of twice the size,
padded with green, from his garments to his skin,
and so the joys of the peers faded away,
and the celebration tucked itself into a hollow pit of grey.
He called out for a man with untwisting honor,
and found no suitable knight who willed to banter,
then a force within me pushed me to confront him,
and so I found ourselves closer than the stretch of the wind.
PART I:
The knight lowered the men’s voices,
and introduced our ears with total silence,
then found his words and took root of demands,
a strong and prideful knight with total compliance.
Hence his eyes shot a horrific gaze:
an alien-paved, passive, emerald utility
which judged each knight in metal armor,
and fell short in his criteria of virility.
He snorted angrily at his wooden physics,
which made all the men frozen,
and interested me the knight forthright,
whose staggers grew stubbornly unbroken.
Without instruction I forced his gaze below,
whose ringed neck welled up in shadows;
he was gigantic from the angle I sought,
and looked more inanimately a sagging willow.
He glared unenthused at my skin,
and the space between his thick brows narrowed;
his breath stayed like the moist dews on grass,
and the silence like lightning furrowed.
I had realized my sloppy endeavor,
to question the goodwill of the knight,
the words quelled up in lost fragments
to the gleaming masses of night.
And I found bravery a personal assault,
and came my fears to torture me whole,
for I let the world come right through me,
and vandalized my mind of white-and-blue.
But the knight kept me as I was,
harping on my brittling brawn,
and decided upon an arcane enlightenment
that I was deemed as the “one”.
As his voice died and the moon gone pallid white,
toneless men chorused my name: their hefty song of fright.
I felt my blood, footsteps; my respiration, my imperfect weight,
bobbing like a ghost in the milky night!
He challenged me a game with steadfast speech,
and boxed me the constraints to know:
“Blow the axe to my neck, conjure the desire for death, yet if I still
stand from head-to-toe, come find me a year later to receive the same blow.”
My skin suddenly felt a rash climb
from the cold blood in my chest,
the sensitivity of my mind,
put the injury against my own flesh.
I never trained myself in the finesse,
of my brethren’s agile muscles,
and had lavished on my small palms,
bewildered by the spears and arrows.
So I struggled, but heaved the giant axe:
it was quiet, reticent, yet glinting in aridity,
which contrasted my stance and partial breath,
and I paced despite our unknown affinity.
STRIKE! BLOOD! Blood on my fingers and hair!
A headless man in the castle in a world where life is shared!
I stood there, teary-eyed, ****** of knowledge and wisdom,
whimpering upon the domains of the snowy kingdom.
Then a miracle materialized by a process undefined,
which enraptured the men the most by far,
and I scoffed at miracles and its timely niches;
their unrusted hinges and folklike avatars!
His marred and carved-like body,
met the footing of life in advance
and stood; he waded his way headless on his own blood,
spraying across the clean floor as if it was glass
As he finally picked up that head of his,
I wanted to question the smugness that ran through him,
if strength was what he had looked for,
for it mattered less after the blood spilled.
For as a candle wept for borrowed light,
anyone could have been in my position,
and be blinded by the fire the knight left,
thinking a long breath would be the easy solution.
Until the blood below was hardened wax,
for I was candle trapped by my breath,
who was lit for hands that understood
anything too bright made it less.
So the knight mounted his horse,
and I struggled by the nose,
to fully glimpse a world with this statement:
“Come find me a year later to receive the same blow.”
The sparks that flew of his horse’s hooves,
spread open the outside world of snow and hail,
where the inscrutable path waited everyday,
when my journey was unveiled!
So his words looped in my mind,
and I bargained the bigger meaning,
yet no matter how the words shuffled,
death hung my ears like an earring.
Mar 28
Mar 28, 2026 at 8:55 AM UTC
FROM THE POETRY ALBUM: BELIEVERS TO THE GOLDEN RETRIEVERS
V. The Green Knight
PREFACE
All the knights gathered up at christmastide,
in the gloriest hall of Camelot, with festive-like eyes,
and fellowship was timed with jousting and carol-dancing,
the fearless noise of peers and women all distracted the night!
Then came a hissing knight of twice the size,
padded with green, from his garments to his skin,
and so the joys of the peers faded away,
and the celebration tucked itself into a hollow pit of grey.
He called out for a man with untwisting honor,
and found no suitable knight who willed to banter,
then a force within me pushed me to confront him,
and so I found ourselves closer than the stretch of the wind.
PART I:
The knight lowered the men’s voices,
and introduced our ears with total silence,
then found his words and took root of demands,
a strong and prideful knight with total compliance.
Hence his eyes shot a horrific gaze:
an alien-paved, passive, emerald utility
which judged each knight in metal armor,
and fell short in his criteria of virility.
He snorted angrily at his wooden physics,
which made all the men frozen,
and interested me the knight forthright,
whose staggers grew stubbornly unbroken.
Without instruction I forced his gaze below,
whose ringed neck welled up in shadows;
he was gigantic from the angle I sought,
and looked more inanimately a sagging willow.
He glared unenthused at my skin,
and the space between his thick brows narrowed;
his breath stayed like the moist dews on grass,
and the silence like lightning furrowed.
I had realized my sloppy endeavor,
to question the goodwill of the knight,
the words quelled up in lost fragments
to the gleaming masses of night.
And I found bravery a personal assault,
and came my fears to torture me whole,
for I let the world come right through me,
and vandalized my mind of white-and-blue.
But the knight kept me as I was,
harping on my brittling brawn,
and decided upon an arcane enlightenment
that I was deemed as the “one”.
As his voice died and the moon gone pallid white,
toneless men chorused my name: their hefty song of fright.
I felt my blood, footsteps; my respiration, my imperfect weight,
bobbing like a ghost in the milky night!
He challenged me a game with steadfast speech,
and boxed me the constraints to know:
“Blow the axe to my neck, conjure the desire for death, yet if I still
stand from head-to-toe, come find me a year later to receive the same blow.”
My skin suddenly felt a rash climb
from the cold blood in my chest,
the sensitivity of my mind,
put the injury against my own flesh.
I never trained myself in the finesse,
of my brethren’s agile muscles,
and had lavished on my small palms,
bewildered by the spears and arrows.
So I struggled, but heaved the giant axe:
it was quiet, reticent, yet glinting in aridity,
which contrasted my stance and partial breath,
and I paced despite our unknown affinity.
STRIKE! BLOOD! Blood on my fingers and hair!
A headless man in the castle in a world where life is shared!
I stood there, teary-eyed, ****** of knowledge and wisdom,
whimpering upon the domains of the snowy kingdom.
Then a miracle materialized by a process undefined,
which enraptured the men the most by far,
and I scoffed at miracles and its timely niches;
their unrusted hinges and folklike avatars!
His marred and carved-like body,
met the footing of life in advance
and stood; he waded his way headless on his own blood,
spraying across the clean floor as if it was glass
As he finally picked up that head of his,
I wanted to question the smugness that ran through him,
if strength was what he had looked for,
for it mattered less after the blood spilled.
For as a candle wept for borrowed light,
anyone could have been in my position,
and be blinded by the fire the knight left,
thinking a long breath would be the easy solution.
Until the blood below was hardened wax,
for I was candle trapped by my breath,
who was lit for hands that understood
anything too bright made it less.
So the knight mounted his horse,
and I struggled by the nose,
to fully glimpse a world with this statement:
“Come find me a year later to receive the same blow.”
The sparks that flew of his horse’s hooves,
spread open the outside world of snow and hail,
where the inscrutable path waited everyday,
when my journey was unveiled!
So his words looped in my mind,
and I bargained the bigger meaning,
yet no matter how the words shuffled,
death hung my ears like an earring.
