The Secret

Wind blows through the ancient parapets
Whining down the crumbling stone steps
Listen carefully—the watchman calls
Crying out the hour, as fog and darkness fall

The grass and stone court yard shadow eerily
Clanking heard from the blackened armory
Iron to rusty iron, screeches at protesting door
Horse and squire, slowly exit, to the drill floor

Thudding resonates from polished equestrian boots
A figure saunters steadily toward his snorting brute
A swordsman, regal in flowing couplet and pants
Proud in bearing, take the reins, attention stands

Unaware, 500 years and counting, separate ghost and reality
Booted man, his steed and squire, turn their gaze upon me
Eyes are questioning, probing, intent and wordlessly
Turbulantly, I reach for answers, am I to search endlessly?

As I watch this scene passing, ragged pages, faded frames
I turn those storied sheets, my mind and soul, jump and fly
Imagination, aided with author’s pen, and artist’s curves
Their question, spoken silently, reveal the secret in the words