The Knights Castle

Vaughn Walker

A knight at the castle gates.

Prepared to give his life.

The drawbridge opens.

The trumpets sound.

His honor not in question.

But now is the time.


His armor once golden.

That shined against the Sun.

Now bloodied and heavy.

His sword once righteous. 

Now knows the terrible truth.

To keep peace, there must be war.


The men he doesn’t know.

Many he has killed.

He knows not their faces.

Only the blood on his sword.


There once was a philosopher. 

That said “All men are evil until proven otherwise”.

We can’t all be knights.

But some part resides.

A craving for power.

That all men hide.






  • Author: Vaughn Walker (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: June 15th, 2022 21:37
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 11
  • User favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek.


  • crypticbard

    The power of knighthood is the chink in every knight's armour. It has always been so, so much that Launcelot has been the epitome of this innate weakness. So true. Thanks for sharing.

  • L. B. Mek

    we covet, our neighbours
    equate worth, by their measure
    seek, to realise it for ourselves
    feeds ambition's dreams
    reality, warps our yearned
    into nightmares of blinkered
    success, affirms our choices
    our perspectives and moral
    till, what we think becomes
    and so we begin, to sink - in
    of Pride and endless thirst, for
    of anything n everything, because
    become, fate
    that realised reality all-consuming
    wilful: conceit....
    some, kid
    makes sandcastles, with
    our, failures
    a knight's tale, foretold
    as it unfolds

    • Vaughn Walker

      Very well said. Unfortunately very true.

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