Poetry: ‘A Knight’s Due’

1st September 2026

Little poem I wrote recently, quite close to my heart!

A Knight’s Due

To many kingdoms have I seen,
citadels, villages, and pastures green.
Won glory for our family crest
that gleams in armour on my chest.

Fought battles for both king and lord,
fought bravely of thine own accord.
Kingdoms bent beneath my tread,
yet homeward turns my heart with dread.

With flowers clasped and throat drawn tight,
I knock upon your door at night.
“Welcome, welcome,” sweet your call—
I stoop to pass beneath your hall.

“The fare for one night’s stay?” I plead.
“A pound,” you say, “is all we need.
Dinner here is sparse and slight;
a pound of flesh will set it right.”

You do not ask of journey’s end,
nor of the knights I call my friends.
You speak instead of youth long past
and how my gratitude should last.

You do not listen—not at all.
Your voice alone fills up the hall.
“We’ll feast like kings this very night!
Our son returns within our sight.”

You show me, cut upon thy thigh,
the hollow carved there years gone by—
a pound you paid in decades past;
“’Tis now your time, my boy, at last.”

“My father asked for two; I ask but one.
That is the fairer price, my son.”
“Is this,” I ask, “our cursed design—
that fathers feed on sons in line?”

You speak of love and filial debt,
of duties I must not forget;
yet why do cheeks recall your rings
more clear than tender, gentle things?

“We love your smile—but shear it down.
A smaller laugh would suit this town.
Lay down the sword. Unhand the shield.
What use is strength we cannot wield?

Remove the arm that dares defend.
Remove the will that will not bend.
Leave only what we shaped in you.
Carve out the rest that once you knew.”

You feast upon what I have shorn
and call it love to see me worn.
Grow round on all that I resign;
grow strong on what was once called mine.

A pound of flesh—so small a thing.
Strange how it costs me everything.