A Medieval Morning
I watch him, that perfect soldier, my kin.
The sun rises over the tall beautiful castle.
I wait patiently. He places the helmet on his head.
His golden hair and blue eyes that father passed to him, but not me.
His sharp silver sword shines like a shard of a mirror in his hands.
I chuckle as my brother starts on a stroll down to the field.
His beautiful strong horse’s hooves
clip and clop on the castle’s beautiful cobblestone walkway,
that someday I will ride down with pride.
Soon I will have a horse, land, a silver sword, and a lady.
A soldier rides to my kin,
pulls something shiny and silver from his pouch.
A sword carves through his strong, chain-mailed stomach.
I see red, like wine on clean linens.
His body drops off his horse, lifeless in the field.
I walk to my deceased brother and whisk away his possessions,
hold them up to the sun and whisper,
mine it’s all mine.