VALOUR OF THE CROWDS

oh raise the chariots,
of a war that fed on its king,
of the whimpering knights,
the darkness of their grace,
paints the arena of mercy,
laden with dust and webs,
for it never saw the great feast.

oh clamour in defeat,
and hide their shame in amour,
and lift silver chalices,
not in celebration of glory,
but to quench the thirst of shame,
that befell the mighty crusaders,
for they saw no battle but sun.

oh clutter the deafening jeer,
the mockery in chatter and giggle,
and soak the kingly robe,
in the strands of cowardly sweats,
in the rust of the swords in sheaths,
for the enemy combatant that never showed up.