bare it straight...

the knight-fool referenced here,
me, scrabbled, scrambled writer,
moat-surround builder,
petard hole-blower in walls of captivity.
letting those inside out,
letting those outside in...

all the beloveds from
ailments hurtful,
in and ex ternality
fearful of eternality

guise of knight errant,
salve and solve,
two pocket protectors,
needy, downtrodden, love-hurting,
slip inside and hide till ready
to come out on acceptable terms

entrapped, locked down and in,
show me the walls for to break,
make the solitary unobligatory
hands holding you will lead us,
all writ on clean new chance foolscap
open sourced coded for sharing

knock knock knock
come calling,
my calling...
to come...

the white knight did not make eye contact
when he left
simply, he picked up his sword
and walked out to a starless evening sky

he left the fireplace lit
clinging to the remnants of blackened, ashy fire wood
as his heavy metal boots clanged
every step of the way

i watched him climb atop his neighing stead
and heard the clip-clops of hooves fade in the night

i told him to stay
he didn't

soon after
he returned
but only what was left of him.

He knelt at the side of her bed
Like a throne or alter
His mind full of hope or surrender
Even he didn't know which it was

He held her hand
Told her he couldn't understand
What she was going through
That he didn't know what would happen

But he told her he'd be there
He'd be her comfort and all her courage
She would see him in her dreams
He would never leave

He swore it like a Knightly oath
With his hand over his heart
He told her tomorrow was uncertain
But today would last forever

And so she never died
She lived forever in that moment
Like a Queen with her fervent strength
A Goddess with her humble tears

She lived eternally within his promise

A day will come, young traveler,
When a noble king and his sickly queen
Seek your wisdom
And your guidance.
But you have none to give.

You are no hero, you are just a boy
With a satchel and a walking stick.
But you are beautiful and kind
So a hero you are dubbed
By a noble king and his sickly queen.

They dress you as a knight,
Drape their sigil on your back,
And the horse clops away.
You ride tall
Until you’re out of sight.

You are no hero, you are just a boy
With a horse and a sword.
But a crest blows behind you
So you become a hope
And the children learn your name.

How can you see what’s at your back
In the wilderness without a mirror?
Use your shield, young knight,
You’ll be stone before long
So draw your sword or face the dirt.

Your armor is much heavier than before
Or perhaps you are weaker
And your sword is aching and twitching
Against your side, writhing in its
New, painful sheen.

How can you sleep
Under the gods and the stars
When both have seen what you’ve done?
Both have heard the scream
And smelled the reek of iron on your breath.

No, you cannot face them
So you look down. You sell your horse
To a man on a farm.
You leave your armor
On the banks of a river.

For you are no hero, you are just a boy
With a satchel and a walking stick
And stains on your hands.
And the king and queen say you are lost
So they light a candle for you.

You are no hero, but you are no boy.
Your feet are weathered
And your eyes are warm with the sun.
You are not lost, young traveler,
You are exactly where you are.

Love is a left-mouse click, a flashing prompt,
For the cursor cross of a Crusade that never was,
And the knight who is broken on the scroll wheel,
And the lady in waiting who backspaces from the real.

I always prefer the broken people of the world
Not because I want to save them
I am no ones white knight

Those people are more real
Their scars tell beautiful stories of triumph and defeat
They make me feel something more than just lost

The embrace you get from someone who is lonely
Will always be the most genuine  
I will never trade that away for cheap affection

This veil spun by
A knight of reality,
Breaking struggle into riches
Like a heavenly collapse.
An intricate escape from
The waiting womb
Of distortion and melancholy;
Illusion of a metaphorical tomb.

Eternally great is
The mask weaver,
Painting faces open to truth,
Waking new dreamers.
Sing to life these
Revelations while
I drop the veil
And truly perceive.