Chevalier

In my spring I set souls free with the Novena on my lips;
Charged through sandy blood-mud, straight out of sun's eclipse.
I prayed up to ancient Sainte, "Begird me and my men..."
Armored 'neath a scarlet croix to negate both spear and sin.

A ringing sword in battle, a slurping sword in meat,
A mounted trumpet charge, trembling pebbles at shod feet.
Homesick hunger learned to sup on bile, blood, and fear.
Imperfect contrition's invention let our sorry minds die clear.

Tired, weak and soulsick, carried back across blue ever,
Once again the heavens lit and lightened the endeavor.
Morning star and her evening self, reflecting my split nature;
I, who heeded Urban's call to seal black sin's erasure.

Blest by familiar bishop once upon my missed homeland,
Released from holy yoke, I ruled again my own swordhand.
Sheathed in dusty corner, waits honed tool of Godlike powers,
Imbued with lost intention, and untouched these many hours.

Somewhere in the arid East a man both forged and beat,
Assumes an eldritch edge that his God findeth unmeet.
No dispensation, Holy See or ordination made by flesh
Can murderous and merciful within one soul enmesh.

At last I captured winter, pious veteran, scars in view.
Earned my ease at land and life, I weekly take the pew.
Absolution long conferred, in peace I keep God's course;
My secret heart still beating sword on buckler high ahorse.