The Red Knight
written by: Elizabeth Barton
Up from the ranks strides the Red Knight,
pennants aglitter with envy, jealousy
that ride side by side whenever I excel,
as garish as all the deadly sins on parade,
as intimidating as the breath of hell.
He wears many guises; the fear, the stumbling gait
know where he has trod, that creep like stealth;
the quiet doubt that drains an ocean
knows the touch of his rod, and crestfallen,
the visage is the same behind them all.
The glint of his armour is the imagined slight,
the arrow glancing his shield, the growing doubt;
where is the firm ground on which I stood?
The shaft of arched eyebrow and curled lip
make quicksand his quip, his glance to brood.
The leprous cowardice that stops the blood
imbues the thought that precedes the dream;
the fear is the fabric of the phantom,
where he stood faceless, maggot’s food;
the terror of memory, the Red Knight’s shadow.
What is the memory, the visage,
bloodied and wrecked, the head torn away?
The fear of dying; the loss of character;
the loss of my crown, my selfhood;
the Red Knight is a remorseless thief.
When a precious secret finds its way,
a promise kept falls astray and lets slip
into the night, the Red Knight knows
before the rise of day and withering,
sneers at every treasured sentiment.
The lover’s kiss, the word amiss
are thrown into the fire;
the Red Knight stirs the coals
left where words grow cold
and hoards them for a martyr’s pyre.
Let me sup with the Red Knight;
let me take a long spoon for my gain
with which to sup, and my troubles to flight
as I take a bet with courage for my boon;
courage heart, when the Red Knight looms.
The elements bind with rushing torrent, fire, earth,
air and wild cataract, and all blend in me
a form as subtle yet deathless as a god;
the hearth, the home, the pivot of my strategy
mark the advance of my assembled army.
On the Enochian chessboard of black and white
where time unwinds in a suspended world,
there is his battlefield, his concealed abode;
the apparition appears; it is the Red Knight.
I am armed, ready to face the foe.
When his fierce mount pounds the graven ground
and strains at the circle in which he is bound,
I surmount the world like the sun and round the day,
not an inch to give, nor the theft of my crown,
its vital rays like laurels; the Red Knight is slain.
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