He lay there in fear
Constant thoughts of worry
But his compassion for life remain alive
Alive, like the burning of incense
The smell of his heart so pure
Blood running wild like a white knight in armor
Fighting for this compassion so resiliently
His virtues take heavy hits, piercing arrows
Debasing the knights foundation of reality
He remain steadfast, standing tall and proud
Although illogical, his emotions have prevailed
Thinking back of his days of philosophy
The rational thoughts of his scholars
Socrates and Plato would surely be proud
But has he committed a crime in being compassionate?
Too much goodness may lead to naivety
‘Do not let the world alter your virtue, for it is only an illusion’
The wisest of words ring into his iron helmet
Clanking armor, falling horses
He continues to fight, defeat is not an option
His greatest enemy not the opponent who stand before him
But merely, his debilitating thoughts
They remain more piercing than the arrows of a bowman
He falls, again and again, and again
The fall of his sword, like the fall of Rome
Burned, collapsed, run completely to the ground
But great endings continue to have great beginnings
He has found serenity elsewhere
In the comfort of his mind
The great warrior rises again