Order Of Knights. Resigned.

By Buddy Lieberman (Rated G)

The World is beautiful.
Vast.
Too much to defend.
Too much for us.


A man draped in iron-bound ringlets.
His forearm is clenched, bearing his few pounds of metal, beaten and refined into a blade. He calls it beautiful, his friend, his right hand.
Booted in stout cobbled leather, his feet remain settled in the grains of sand, waiting for the hourglass of happenings to converge on him.
That time encroaches.
But this knight has prepared.

Lacquered leather.
A sword with a long handle.
A spear.
He is not tall, but dignity and honor don’t mind. They are his friends—they have seen what he will do to protect them.
He rests the butt of his spear on one toe, his forearm drapes on the butt of his sword, he squints into the fog.
The enemy approaches.
Samurai. Ready.

Clothed in robes of desert winds, dust billowing around linen cloth.
A sabre in his sash, legs spread, sandaled feet resting lightly on the golden earth, he stares at the shifting sands of the night.
He will defend the dunes so that his people may stay.
A low storm of dust pulls over the horizon.
He lifts his chin.
The storm seeks him.


But we will just not pass away.
We will be forced to resign.
And we will break through their front lines.
And our people, prepared, will pour in behind us.

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