He wore no pride upon his shoulders, No hunger burned behind his eyes. Where others spoke of fame and conquest, He watched the road And measured lies. The sword was bright, The armor spotless, But neither made the man. He rode beneath A quieter banner, And followed Where it led. No feast could hold him. No praise could bind him. No earthly crown could make him stay. For something called beyond the forest, Beyond the walls, Beyond the day. A vision moved Through sleep and silence. A vessel bathed In living light. And every road That bent before him Turned toward The coming night. GALAHAD. No boast. No fear. No shadow At his side. GALAHAD. The road Was opening wide. He crossed the fields Where old men faltered, Passed ruined chapels, Broken stones. He heard the grief Of wounded kingdoms, He saw the cost Of empty thrones. And where the proud Would raise their banners, He lowered Sword and head. For the Grail Would not be taken By the hands That conquered men. Not by blood. Not by birth. Not by steel. Not by worth. Not by triumph. Not by name. Only one Who sought no glory Could approach The sacred flame. GALAHAD. No crown. No throne. No kingdom Of his own. GALAHAD. Beyond the walls He rode alone. And somewhere Past the wounded land, Beyond the mortal veil... A light Was waiting For the knight Who sought The Grail!
