When there is a damsel in distress, there is always a knight ready with lance and shield in hand, to charge into battle for his lady fair. Mantra thinks this is a fairy tale. Can she convince you?
In the fairy tale version, the knight is a healthful, youthful man filled with chivalry and abundant courage. He is the man of the young girl’s princess dreams.
But then there is reality…
Women see men with different lenses than the idealist wannabe princess. They find different ones attractive: different heights, different shapes, different ages. They weigh characteristics like ambition, courage and ingenuity differently on an individual basis. In life, they understand the trade off for character is far more important than the pretty package which first catches their eye.
What happens when the trade off does not happen? Mantra brings you a modern day knight who may not have seen how important it was to sharpen different skills as others faded away.
Simply titled Rust, this narrative poem reveals what happens we get caught up in the everyday and let the events preclude our care of the ravages of time.
Tonight, the angels all have broken wings.
The rescuers bowled over like scattered pins.
No electricity flows through the lines,
And the signal has been interrupted.
For once, the need arose for you to mount
A trustworthy steed and charge into the fray.
Yet, there you stand, mired to the ground
In the shambles of your life disrupted.
Your charger lay on the lawn, emaciated
The froth on his breast and lips coarse and stiff.
His knotted legs could not support his weight,
Much less carry you victoriously again.
Your armor lay crumpled upon the floor,
Covered in neglectful dust of uselessness.
Even were it clean, it no longer fits.
Complacent girth could never get in.
Your weapon stands lazy on the bureau top.
Its hammer rusted solid. Its firing pin laid dull.
The shield is near, but with no more care.
Its shine is gone in scratches and dimpled dents.
In folly, you march toward battle unarmed
With nothing more than bluster and pride.
You tramp before the demons raised high
Above the castle which was to be your own.
Battlements tumbled in evil laughter.
Blood poured out upon the stone.
A fiend hisses, “Fine sir, where were you?”
Unwitting, your only answer: “I didn’t hear the phone.”
(c) Red Dwyer
Have you ever missed the call to come to a loved one’s aid? Has “life” ever gotten in the way of taking care of yourself or those nearest you? Are you caught up in the everyday? Could you jump to someone’s rescue if you were needed?
Is the knight incommunicado?