A Knight rides forth into the dark,
eyes blazing with righteous anger.
His lady-love a prisoner is,
in thrall to chivalry's vile betrayer.

Clutching tightly her token in gauntleted hand,
with armour laden, and honour obliged,
he rides through the night
with revenge in his mind.

His proud, black-manèd stallion
The brilliant sheen of golden flanks
strides powerfully down the road,
eyes shining with his master's aim.

The Knight reins in his mighty steed,
Carefully scrutinizing the way.
A hundred leagues had he further to ride,
if e'er he would see his true love again.

Lordly he sits in his saddle, astride,
magnificent sword strapped to his waist.
The glittering stars light up his way;
the moon dark, still, and by clouds hid.

The need for haste clashes harshly with prudence.
Desperation, concern, regret and loss
Collide with each other in his brain
as he carefully tallies the cost.

His cause requiring immense caution,
by heart's love foresworn. Abandons
he reason in the face of his quest,
and spurs his mount to impossible speed.

Reaching his goal, the foreboding tower,
containing the spectre of his ire,
the great Knight dismounts his golden horse
to approach the hideous black door.

Menacingly, it opens under his touch.
With heart ne'er gripped by the hand of fear,
bestrides he the threshold, and slams
the door to. It quivers in rusty hinges.
Candles glittering coldly blue,
held tight in the gruesome claws of
creatures forged in the pits of Hell
cast tomblike pall on his vision,

but unswerving of purpose is this Knight;
ignoring dread aspects, and bones
of the ever unquiet dead,
he blazes a trail with furious eyes.

His metal-clad feet reverberate,
Spurs clanking, in this evil den,
sending word to the perilous
villain that his death has arrived.

Ascending the manifold steps,
spiralling upward in their attempt
to touch the Glorious Veils of
Heaven, a grave insult to God.

He reaches the summit of the dire,
man-made peak, and shatters the door,
bursts the hinges asunder. His foe
lies in wait, unwilling to just die.

A sorcerer, great, dreadful of pow'r.
Physically small, and weak of chin,
his eyes burn fierce with fire unholy,
seeking to harm the Greatest of Knights.
Dark and tattered were the robes,
that clashed with the blessèd, bright steel.
Silver battles with black for the fate
of a maiden, virtuous and true.

The flaming sword of justice and right
twirls through the air with deadly
grace, while brilliant purple fire
blossoms on misshapen talons.

The Knight's shield a mirror holy,
magically imbued with virtues
beyond Earthly structure; the arrows
of flame freeze as they brush the shield-boss.


A Fight in dead earnest truly this was;
Virtue and Vice, locked together in war.
One side righteous, the other, sheer hate,
gnashing his teeth and spitting his rage.

The Wizard's profane powers spent,
his wicked talents exhausted.
Helpless, and unmoving is he,
and the great Knight feels sympathy.

Knowing well his sacred duty,
regretting the need of ending a
life; the Knight sees before him a man,
twisted and marred though he became.

The welfare of others demands
that he act. Swift and sure is his stroke,
mercifully clean. The threat, it is over,
the danger has been driven out.

The lady fair, in gossamer gown
flies to her Knight, who for her has bled.
At long last true-love's tender kiss
signals the final end of the quest.

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