A poem I wrote from the rock outcropping under the edge of Switzerland’s 1100 AD era Lenzburg Castle. An awesome feeling overcame me where I could see warriors and hear clanking of swords and I sat down and wrote this complete stream of consciousness. They say some places do that to a person. This castle did that to me. Here is what I saw play out and wrote down….
A Warrior’s Tale: A Faithful Knight In Final Battle
Your Knights we beseech thee in earnest Lord.
We hear the beckon cry forlorn.
Of peasants and the village men,
all bellowing in times gone dark and grim.
We sense the faltering of our fortified might,
of the rampart walls from which we fight.
We sense a turbulance deep within,
and question valor and the whim.
Of nation states who do’eth wryth,
in bloodshed battles amidst our cries.
Across the valleys and this fortress mote,
we see a future of which you’ve spoke.
A grand and sensitive valley plain,
where honor’s legacy doth never wane.
Valor is tested in century time,
and like all medieval memories,
lives in a heart like mine.
I feel the gothic creaking tale,
of noble Lords and people frail.
Who crumble under falling board,
of castle wall and battle sword.
We Knights of sacred destiny known,
we enter this rock and vest our valor this morn.
As the sun doth rise across the plain,
we gather our might and we gather our pain.
Tomorrow we beckon our knights around,
and enter the enemy without a sound.
With the quick of a draw
the knife blade quivers,
and with the whisper of the edge,
the enemy doth shiver.
Like the blade of summer grass,
some nations mend.
And, so to this,
this day, we end.
Our legacy now fortified but with bloodlines deceased,
I question who is the hero and who is the beast.
And though I now wonder in winter’s rain,
Now only a spirit of this great plain,
I am haunted by the raven’s cry.
The day I laid down my sword,
…the day I died.
~ written at the base of Lenzburg Castle, Switzerland
~ L. Davis, The Poet Farmer