Shimmering on that bright yet unspoilt sunny morn
the Dark Knights armour created a shadow.
Standing like a giant before his loyal army
six horses approached upon their backs.
Rode six more knights warriors full of pride
an ancient elite force were now by his side.
A vast enemy camp lay below them in the early mist
tension was high dark clouds filled the sky.
Fighting for months the force was now cornered
thinking of his Lady Claire whom he had saved.
From the clutches of the Barron who had taken her
his nerves building up how the anger did stir.
Mounting his steed the Dark knight drew his sword
Remembering his Lady as the seven rode forward.
Joining them the rest of the mounted soldiers
followed by his trusty band of loyal men.
In unison silently they headed into the fight
lead by this proud and brave Dark Knight.
As the enemy army below awoke to this new day
unaware of what was about to befall the camp.
An irritated Barron came out from of his stately tent
with a sense of impending danger in the air.
Weary of the never ending drive for power
not even he knew of his own final hour.
The Dark Knight had no idea his enemy had lived
his sword hadn’t pierced the Barron’s chain mail.
Almost laughing thinking how he had cheated death
the scar on his upper arm still giving him pain.
He knew that the final battle would soon begin
wanting more victims blood upon his skin.
Reflections were short lived as the lookouts yelled
a massive army was very close at hand.
Coming towards him the Dark Knight charged
head long into the camp slashing and thrusting.
A complete surprise to the sleepy enemy force
no time to repel as history took its course.
The bloody onslaught raged on through the day
as heavy rain began to form a pit from the depths.
As the knights numbers began to dwindle.
a lone figure stood there in the thick mud
The Dark knight looked in a disbelieving stare
only one would walk away alive from there.
The eye contact was short as The Dark Knight
with no mercy made sure his foe died.
Dispatching in one thrust The Barron’s head
this time he knew the monster was really dead.
The Foureyed Poet.