All the knights are gone,
and chivalry is dead.
The round table just got,
a double-tap in the head.
No steel bodies on horses,
swords made into plowshares.
Codes of honors on coat-of-arms,
just something you stick on a fridge.

Ivanhoe is a fading memory,
swooning ladies couldn't cut it.
Impecable honor is a gas,
just like the cavalry charge.
Bugles broken, standards burnt,
archers bows broken over knees.
Sword and sheath a family heirloom,
traded in at a local pawnshop.

Ticker parades with cheering people,
gone are the colors of the field.
No more field fights, men on a row,
rushing head first into hell.
Horses gone with their wagons,
slit trenches filled with ancient graveyards.
No more surrendering swords over,
no tipped hats to better strategies.

The cannon's roar gone with the rising sun,
the chariot charge long since wasted.
Javelins now collect dust in attics,
waiting for the next year's Olympics.
Shields with house signs just a plate,
sold with the house that come with it.
Polearms and axes used to cut wood,
the winter of medival war has come at last.

11/24/2004

Posted on 11/25/2004
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