The rain fell soft, the world stood still,
As clouds hung low beyond the hill.
Through empty fields, a traveler came,
Along the path that had no name.
Beneath an oak, with roots entwined,
A rusted knight sat by its side.
His armor cracked, his blade laid bare,
Long lost to time's wear and tear.
The traveler paused, he casts his sight,
Upon this silent, forgotten knight.
What battle left you here to fade?
What wars did you fight, was the price paid?
The earth around was thick with moss,
A quiet witness to this loss.
The knight sat still, no tale to tell,
In his lonesome, silent hell.
A story locked within the rust,
Of iron will, and bones now dust.
The traveler thought, but did not ask,
For answers hidden behind the mask.
The oak had watched, through years gone by,
As shadows moved and battles died.
Its roots entangled with earth and stone,
While this knight remained, long overthrown.
The traveler watched, his thoughts kept close,
And wondered at the knight’s repose.
The world moved on, but here time waited,
A fleeting breath in silence faded.
And so he turned, with steps that slowed,
At this tale the path had showed
The battle ended, but scars remain,
And what was lost, still bears some pain.
He walked away, though something stayed,
An echo in the light and shade.
The knight sat quiet, the oak stood tall,
And in their stillness, spoke it all.
No words were shared, none needed there,
The silence being heavy, thickened the air.
The traveler knew, as he turned to leave,
Some battles end, but wounds still grieved.
He walked on slow, the rain now light,
Leaving behind the rusted knight.
And though no words were ever spoken,
The weight of war was never broken.
