The Angels Were Generous

Chivalry

I read of knights I’m supposed to portray.
A world revolving around wayward men
Whose cruelty served to remind again
How arrogant, selfish, and snotty were they

I close my eyes and envision the knights.
The poetry written of unreal men
Who shined with glory, way back then,
Their backbone straight and head on right.

I see myself as I exit the field.
Dust and sweat caked on my armor and brow,
Passing by women too exhausted to bow,
Limping and panting, can’t wait ‘til I’m healed.

Which of these am I to convey?
Historically right but cruelly styled?
A vision in the dreams of a child?
Or simply a man who likes to play?

A little of each is where I shall aim,
Truth can’t be denied though very uncouth
Ignore a child's dreams and you steal their youth -
I'm just a man in this dream of a game.