The Last Crusader, by Karl Friedrich Lessing
The Paladin's Lament
by A.R. Carter, 2011
The swirl of vengeful desert dust
and moral rage long simmering
dulls the sound of angel's wing
and hides my hope's light glimmering.
In righteous roar of red-tinged mist,
all peace of mind is gone and lost.
If challenge in this life were fair,
not vigil by Saracen's lair,
if I had just normal struggles made,
not bashing demons on my blade,
the gnashing in my soul would stop
and simple joys from heaven drop.
I deftly face the Devil's knife
slicing weakness from my life,
but facing monsters miles wide
with no-one's army by my side
is getting old quite hard and fast;
time's mortal strength will not long last.
If worldly needs did not exist
I'd retire to a hermit's nest,
but a quiet breaking heart at noon
makes sinful midnight hand creep in
delivering me so I may rest,
tears falling after on my breast.
It waits to cherish, love, adore,
if just my pride were not at war.
Alone I fall asleep at night,
alone I wake in morning light.
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