A feather touch… (10)
You were triumphant. Mighty and brave on your stallion marching through the city streets decorated by the red ribbons of victory, under the cheers of all people. They were greeting you with red flowers and songs of bravery made in your name. They were touching your armor and horse to convince them that you are a man as they were. In their eyes you were a angel, a messenger, sent by God to deliver them from a cruel fate.
It was a mere touch.
You felt it like a forceful blow.
A young peasant from the crowd. A child-like girl who’s grieving eyes have lost no beauty. They tell you tales of sorrow, yet they chant of a beauty that never fades, and in her touch lie the tells of endless sins of flesh that she promises with the purest of hearts.
As the King humself, entitles you with the rank of Lord Protector of the land, you can only think of your wound. The only wound that cannot not be seen, yet it can hardly be concealed.
“The Lord cares for his land through his nobles and men. If the Lord has virtue, all his men will follow him in virtue. If the lord is strong, all his men will follow him in strength. If the lord is faithfull all men will follow him in faith and God is pleased and He blesses his lands and his people.” The old monk thought you well. But in the matters of heart he knew nothing.
What dagger pierced your heart? It is not steel.
What fire burns your soul? It is not blazing.
What sinful thought disturbs your prayers? It is not a daemon.
You have learned a lot to protect your heart against blows, yet you could hardly think a feather’s touch could deliver you such fate. A consuming thirst and relentless hunger that which can not be satisfied.
Endless desire.
Torment of your soul.
“Any other love, than the love of your God is surely bred by a daemon. Never fall to a woman’s trick, for they are the gates from which the devil enters our world.” As you cut your flesh to not feel love, you try to remember: the old monk thought you well!
But the pain barely distracts you.
You fall down and cry.
Broken champion. Defeated.
You can’t fight anything if you can’t fight Love.
[ suffer ]
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