Thirteen

Blood courses through my veins:
Ancient memories of a distant reverie
Thoughts borne of lions' manes.

Flashing blades and cries of ends
Armor donned one last time to honor
Oaths sworn on a knee that bends.

Echoes throughout the misty ages
Of what was once and may be again
With the cracking turn of pages.

Virtues of those who rode and smote
Those who followed the deeds of seven
As the poets of their works wrote.

Though now their deeds are all but dead
Their names and desires lost to the winds;
All have retired to an earthen bed.

Here alone does one dare make a stand:
To challenge the time, to return to the age
Of when men of honor walked the land.

To stand against the test of time,
To stand true in the face of seven;
To stand with the names of eld
Who have long since died in heaven.

To be such a man, to be such a knight,
With one's only goal: to uphold the light
For a world that has sunk deep into night
To defend the weak with honor-born might
And for those desperate few, fight
For what can only be called right.

To be such a knight.