Knight

...I've been gripping it now for I don't know how long..My hands are iron vices of chilled cold that wont let go. Eyes distant..And to the North. I wonder..Am I strong enough? My foe's surely almost over took me this time..

...Along the hilt is where I can point out to you, the many places I have brought Her righted in an upstroke..Meeting the killing blow before it was too late. My armor is dented..Breast plate no longer fits tightly when the squires bring it to me with their solemn faces and down cast eyes. Yet they try..Some semblance of the old days perhaps.

...Like I am..Of the old. What do I stand for anymore? I remove one finger from the cross-piece..Ice chips, falls. I ponder it through the steam of my breathe..Is it worth it really? So many times I have faced the demons, the confusing, those who would eat the innocent and spit them out. And triumphed..Failed. My son buried by my own path that he wished to follow.

...What do I stand for anymore? And is it, really worth it?

...That was the question I asked myself, as I pried frozen fingers covered in plate mail from the weapon..My vigil..I had kneeled here so long. Even if the sun shone, it was bitter chilled , this air. I squinted to see what I have not been for so long. Lost in my own thoughts.

...A line of children, in their ragged sacks for dresses..Some clutching wooden dolls and swords. The small boys brandished their weapons as if they were recreating the sword play from yesterday upon the battle feild..All at once my heart squeezes painfully..I want to tell them..

...No! Go back and be a farmer! Go into smithing, damn you!

...Part of me rejoices..For the battle will go on..Some will pick up the fight to protect all that we've lost over the years..A line of men. Pitchforks in hand, oxen pulling the wagons.

...Back's were bent low, hay and leather, supplies and food. A line as long, and wide as a river, and as far back as I could see, they came. From their broken homes, black smoke billowing in the back of them.

...The women carried babies,sickle's..Herb and water. Some of them were helping those to crippled in that line, some of them weeping and beating their breasts for their sons..

...And through all this...I asked myself one more time..

...Is it really worth it Old man? You are so tired..


...A turn of my head..To contemplate a babe with ocean blue eyes I could see not so far from me. As I stood finally, and the rest of the frozen moisture tore and cracked itself from my frame..It glistened and tinkled to the snow at my feet..Those ocean blues widened on me . I could almost see the child spark the fire to dream right then and there. I gave him my, tired, broken, and crooked smile.

Who am I, to say when I am done?

I swiveled a heel encased inside of steel..Sheathed my Sword that day...And marched down the hillside to return to my men. Sleep tomorrow..Today, I shall be brave..And stand straighter, for a bit longer.......