Jesters dance, and joke before kings.
Their wisdom hidden in song escapes
the wrath of a leader deaf to truth.
Smiths sweat over forges, metal glowing.
Their muscles tense over tools of death
made to save them all and yet not so.
Maids wrapped and veiled wander.
Eyes flashing promise, or hope to
those whom they can catch looking.
Falconers send their hunters to the sky.
Screaming they soar, and return to
hood and ties – slaves who could be free.
Knights wait for their turn in the lists.
Horses pace, eyeing the tilts and
pennants flash brightly, armor gleams.
Blunted tips on lances signal this is not war.
Death is not the goal here, dismounting
your opponent is the not-so-secret wish.
Music rises and laughter rings loud.
The Medieval Festival makes me long
for a past far distant and darkly present.
All things Medieval over at dVerse…grab your sword, shine the armor and find a horse! Check out the links and leave love, poets live on it!