The Crusader

By Matt Bahntge

He sought that which was his quest
to seek,as a servant of the church,
a protector of the meek.
The knight did ride out of the village,
accepting his quest,
banner raised and riding toward the west.

Aft the village his holiness rode,
against the darkness and through the cold.

As the lone castle did come into sight,
he glimpsed upon his target,
and his quest, it seemed,
was meant to test not his faith, but his might.

His armoured foe,
as evil as could be,
somehow was not all that he was meant to seem.

The church, in its dogmatic view,
had labeled this man,
as one who is unholy and cruel.

In his defection
from what he was meant to conform to,
this man escaped the dogma,
and saw his twisted world through eyes anew.

He established his city,
for the refugees of the land,
hoping to escape the king's confining hand.
The church meant to end this uprising of freed minds,
and to do so sent a crusader,
one of their own, unquestioning kind.

The church's foe, the church's hated,
fell at the hand of the church's crusader.

The blood dripped cold,
flowing down the victor's sword,
as the knight then kneeled to give thanks to his lord.

The knight, head bowed in silent prayer,
was praised by oncoming comrades,
for his black-hearted murder.

But as the knight lifted his head,
and raised his eyes,
and saw what he had created,
the crimson death, and dark demise.

And the great crusader wept in dismay
and painfully grasped the truth:
that the death was there the moment
he accepted their dogma as truth.

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