A Warrior’s Lament

A Warrior’s Lament

For years I’ve mastered all intricacies
Of truth and falsehood, laughter and tragedies.
For years I’ve slaved in quiet musty book-rooms
Reading, writing, thinking of truths and truisms,
Examining subtle things of human brain
That oil the key that opens soft Lie’s chain.

In seven-circled secret vow we’d forged
Ourselves to Jesuitish vassal-lord
In ancient days the heroes pledged their sword
We are bounded by and to the Word

The Word of God, the word of Holy Writ,
The word of subtle rhetoric and wit
The word of truth, of Lady Goodness fair
Against the Unword: our foes everywhere.

In thought we fought the deepest darkest wars
That ever waged against barbarian hordes.
Of whom Berserkers were a pale conceit:
The Soft Liars, with anarchic poisons sweet.

And here I am in midst of great contest
Where worst of lies meets up with Truth’s most best
I tremble, for I fear not shame or fall
I fear (help!) that I fear them not at all!

What happened to the days of Charlemagne
Where vassal-kings and warriors of fame
Would heed their king and die rather than fail
Would avoid shame before killing travails?

My modes of thought have sadly crippled me
That I cannot in fights of int’llect see
The honor of soldiers, the dream of simple boys.
Is it for the saints who but destroy?!

I know I am irrational, I know that I complain.
I know that honor truly flows in my debates’ veins.
But without sense’ble honor, God’s standard seems a trifle
Would that I could merely be Be’wulf’s shield-man for a while!