Broken Armor

Is this my reality
of broken heroes
and knightless realms
to go beyond the borders
of kingdoms blasted with
tyranny. Tainted to the soul
with nothing but dishonor.
What is my reality,
Lancelot’s betrayal, becoming
the plague that is sown within
the land of electricity
conveniently lighting the path
of twists and turns, making
no honest men to which
a woman can succor behind.
The weak wither away
nothing is done, they are
an inconvenience.
Hungering foes
disloyal husbands
where chivalry is a crack-pot
tincture of comedy as it
bounces around the table like
an appetizer never consumed
only reminisced as ladies turn
whores, and men turn steeds
as they mount the very nature
that they sought to be rid of
that Gulliver so true fought.
Blurred wisdom intoxicated with
lust over defense, to shield
honor as wrought as mine chain-mail.
Sorrow in our brothers, in our sisters
as they weep the world that is inherited
by bullied pretenders,
sullied wizards-
We are the knight, but have been lost
to the night as it consumes the essence
of a human heart and its grace among
the universe
injected with the expedient ecstasy
of a dozen sweeping kisses
to experience all flavors
letting not one drop register
a potent taste on your tongue.
The shine of your black knight tarnishes away
as the black steed atop the mountain crest
crumbles to the earth –
replaced by a pale horse.


by: Patrick Bairamian

From: rogue

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