Quickly must my tale be told
of a fallen Knight, once so bold,
once warm but turning frighteningly cold;
now hear this sorrowful tale.
A lifelong sort of war I lived
I spent my days on the battlefield
no surrender, no retreat, never to yield
determined was I to survive.
Beneath the night skies above
I often dreamed of so strong a love
to defeat destiny with the touch of a gloved
hand, on my weary heart.
Once, I thought I’d found this lady
but as it turned out, she was far too shady
of the soul for us to be; maybe
I’d find her later on, I thought.
I found another work of art
who bloomed inside my lonesome heart
but that affair was doomed from the start;
she did not return my feelings.
After that my soul began to tear
but then I found one that did care
petite, lovely, with bright blonde hair
I hoped she might be the one.
Alas, that love would also die,
for we met not seeing eye to eye.
When she was gone, I realized why:
I’d never loved her at all.
Still, the experience hurt so much
that I withdrew from anyone’s touch
and accepted my war; I thought such
would be the rest of my life.
These thoughts turned so dark and grim;
that I would fight on, never to win,
that thoughts of death settled within;
I gave up on peace in this life.
Poor in spirit and physical wealth,
I wanted to turn the blade on myself
when, with speed and amazing stealth,
love found me again.
Though far away, it still seemed
this lady would come to me to mean
so much that once again I dreamed
of peace with her in my life.
That love developed, strengthened, grew
for a while it was all I knew
then over time, this love too
was marred by mortal failings.
But I hoped and mightily prayed
that this great love would one day be saved
just as I was from a waiting grave
if only we persevered.
Then it came, even though I fought,
the day that we were torn apart;
my strength to live and dream were for naught;
I’d regained them, and they were useless.
Now at the close of this great show,
I have no clue where I should go;
I don’t, I don’t, I just don’t know,
what is going on, nor why.
As for this heart beating in my chest,
I pull it out and put it to rest,
without her, it has grown cold, so best
to let it die. . .I have a war to fight.
Do not think it is my desire
to live a life of blood and fire.
It is not; the mere thought causes ire
but my dream, my only dream, is gone.
For the people, I’ll still sing and dance
but I won’t even take the chance
of finding love, for romance
has killed this dreamer. Your dancer is dead.
July 27, 1999
©PCB 1999
Twilight Greyce 