The Burdens of Arthur the King

High and mighty,

Upon a steed,

Pure and white,

Did sit he nigh,

In waning light.

His thoughts heavy,

His burden great,

The Lord Arthur

Did sit in wait.

Watching from afar,

His dying kingdom

Once great,

Now in ruins

Afar yonder gate.

The losses bear he

Weighty on his brow,

Of Queen and Country,

Comrades and Vow.

How even now

His hair is grey,

Turning white,

His face lined,

Yet his eyes alight.

Raise he,

Upon clenched fist

The Pendragon signet,

To heaven on high

Whereto prayer he inlist.

The engraved palm,

With line of age,

Scar of battle done,

Still holds strong,

But only for so long.

Betrayal he fear,

For knoweth he

His tyme is near,

And long in coming

His fate be.

The hammer twill fall soon

He knows, for

The Great Man

Has gone, and left is

A Hero, in Woes.

Though Arthur the Brave

He may still be,

His heart weighs heavy;

Conscience bares sin.

He looks not ahead

To see the battle he'll not win.

And in dying light,

He last gazes

Up to heaven high,

Fore turning his back

Towards duty nigh,

Rightfully his yoke.

And to the setting sun,

Give he prayer now

In hope and wish

That loss of all

He may thwart.

In face of storm great,

And before test of fate

He goeth on

Setting upon at hasty rate.

Upon his back

He takes the weight,

And trudged forth

Toward darker days,

Fore the last of the sun

Is dying rays.

And he is man.

Not a great King

Once Lord, now,

Reduced in stature,

He is a figure forged.

Beginneth he his trek

'crost the wide plain.

To battle his own

With sword he'd slay

The greatest and least

His boarders to maintain.

Guinevere the fair

To whom he'd give all life

And knights of table round

Who'd follow him ev'n strife

He rides to protect

Those that he's named

Not the greatest among them

Not be he least in fame

Only a man tis as he remains.

Tested in strength and stature

He prevailed

In light of all hardships

He never once ailed.

A giant among men

He'd once been the least

And walked below them

Never part of the feast

Now rides he forth

Upon steed fair and fine

Towards his fate

A mortality undenied.

Arthur the king

As did leave he then

Arthur a man

Does go he hence

Never to wander

Destination whence.

A man as he goes.

All is grave in his heart

And kind gentle eyes

Gaze onward towards dawn

And the Fire raised

In Camelot's haze.

He is

Arthur the Man,

Not a king,

Yet nothing less.

Alone he remains.

Protector of Lyonesse.

King of Camelot.

Knight of Table Round.

Arthur the Man.

Yet as a King he is bound