The Path is Straight

White Knight, Black Soul.

Black Cloak, White Goal.

Chilling is the tale,

that is torn from these lips.

A lesson was taught,

with another one forgot.

Purity exists in secret,

and not upon a crest.

White Knight, he did wander,

into a path not as right.

Black Cloak, he was aware,

that the path had to be walked.

The primrose path, lined with flames,

was the knights right to go.

From hell the other came, leaving only,

because his crimes were so grave.

The gentle folks that were passed,

asked nothing of the handsome knight.

Cloaked, to hide his own misery,

had to pay every price in blood.

The knight knew himself better then the rest.

And so he went for pleasure.

The hidden man ran away from damnation.

Because he wished to clean the earth.

Upon the same path, they met.

Each moving to the others past.

The knight did bear his glowing shield,

and upon the ground, his gauntlet fell.

"Behold the sign of battle," the knight did proclaim.

"You shall not befoul the world further."

"Black as I may be," the man quietly said,

"I only wish to make the world right."

But sense and chivalry keep rare company,

and the knight would not be taken in by lies.

Swifter then the arrow, and sadder then the willow.

A knife from the Black Cloak did fly.

The knights armour did blacken and rot.

Naught, but the truth, did bleed from him.

And his blackened husk was dragged.

Along the path, along the way, he was already going.

With resignation, the Black Cloak saw the knight removed,

and left him alone, along the path.

On either shoulder, a choice that didn't make sense.

A choice that he would have to make.

Return to hell, for false punishment.

or ascend to heaven, for false commendation.

Task completed, the black cloak had only one path.

The one he had once tread, knowingly.

To hell he returned, his purpose complete.

To darken the world, no more, with his black cloak.

A lesson was taught,

and a lesson forgot.

I choose now to forget,

because the truth isn't what I want to hear.

Chilling is the tale that I will retell,

until the world may rest in winters grasp.

White Knight, Black Heart.

Black Cloak, Ripped Apart.