Lament of a Fallen Knight

The ground is cracked and dry,
And the air shimmers from the heat.
Ashes fill the sky,
And fall down to rest by my weary feet.

My mouth is filled with dust,
And my throat is dry as the ground.
I toil on as I know I must,
And try to remember water's sound.

I should count myself lucky to live still,
If this torturous existence can be called life.
I remember how my own foolhardy will,
Got me into this strife.

It was done in glory's name,
In the hopes of becoming a hero.
It was the selfish pursuit of fame,
That brought me down so low.

I recall charging down into that cursed cave,
Into the mouth of Hell.
I imagine in I thought myself brave,
But know now that only fools go where dragons dwell.

The heat was worse even than what I now endure,
But I noticed it not.
I was too cocky and sure,
For there was a battle to be fought.

Like a fool I charged right in,
Not sparing a thought for stealth.
And as I entered the dragon's den,
I caught my first glimpse of his wealth.

I was entranced,
As I stared at the piles on the ground.
I didn't spare a second glance,
For anything but the treasure mound.

But my stupor was suddenly broken,
By an almighty roar.
The dragon had come home,
To find me standing at his door!

It was an impressive site,
To see him standing three men tall.
And I was too consumed by fright,
To yell out my war call.

His scales were the color of the setting sun,
And his eyes were deep as the night sky.
I pulled out my sword and began to run,
And smacked it against his mighty thigh.

As it struck I heard a thundering ring,
And stumbled back from the beast.
The only damage inflicted by my swing,
Was a chip on my blade, not damaging him in the least!

Undaunted I hefted my lance from the ground,
And threw it like a spear at his breast.
But it snapped in two with a great cracking sound,
Upon striking his huge golden chest.

He could have killed me on the spot,
For I had not a ghost of a chance.
I still wonder why he did not,
When I was armed with only a chipped sword and broken lance.

Whether he wished to spare me,
Or draw out my death I know not.
But flying he carried me to this sand-filled sea,
And left me forsaken to rot.

Now there is nothing left for me,
But to struggle on through the sand and dust.
Lord, take pity on the foolhardy,
It is in you and you alone I must now trust.