The Old Knight

Chivalry is dead.

They have killed God.

They wiped him from existence

and cry at how cruel and unfair this life is;

then they kneel in their churches

pray for a better one now,

pray for a better one after.

But I bet they don’t realize that no one will answer.

No one likes hand-outs,

especially those who have none.

They pick and choose then get angry when you give.

Don’t give at all and watch them starve,

watch them turn into gravel and melt in their makeshift homes.

Don’t watch at all, why stay and watch?

Just go, just go and keep all that you can give.

Lady Justice removed her blindfold yesterday,

She saw her friends

She saw the silk and silver they carried

The rest is history.

Sagacity? No one knows the word.

They’re too busy tearing down cities

and doing the laundry than reading the dictionary.

They’re too busy acting on what they hear

so that they can be part of that history.

Sure, be part of history, but is it the type that

no one will pay attention to, or cringe at, or fail at remembering?

No one can think in all the gunfire. I saw them shoot

Prudence down when she decided to come out to play.

Chivalry is dead.

We are all but sober.

Our resolve has withered away

into the bush, into the grass, into the voices

of those who would cut them down and feed them

to the pigs. The pigs

squeal, but no one will hear,

we’re too busy having our fill.

Truth—what is that?

No, I don’t want to hear it.

Just give me what I want as I sit here and feed this box-window.

All I care is about what I want. Give it to me.

Everything is dark.

Remember, God is dead.

There’s no light, there’s no staircase, no—

but I’ve heard there was a highway.

People take that instead— it’s an easy road to take.

Valour?

Oh we have plenty of that.

We just don’t know when to quit.