Of olden time...

From olden time was taught,
to show emotions naught,
feelings to be hidden deep beneath.

Since olden time has growned,
this skill of hiding learned,
to build the wall so great.

This skill the peasant mastered,
was practiced till perfected,
never showing whats inside.

To the duke that he served,
praise he should deserved,
for he laid his life for his works.

Recognition that was yearned,
never came to be earned,
mixed was the duke's family and work.

And so it came to be,
the peasant went to see,
to give his performance to the king.

Before the king he performed,
more outstanding he proved to be,
igniting the greenish flames of the duke.

For the duke could not stand,
a peasant becoming this grand,
a plot was formed to bring him down.

And so it came to be,
the peasant was not to be,
an inexperienced knight was chosen.

The night of blessings came,
the night of many fames,
people far and near, present.

One by one was proclaimed,
blessing and honour was belaid,
the peasant eagerly waiting.

The last but the least was named,
a name was to be never proclaimed,
not shown, but lowed the peasant was.

Losing himself, opened a door,
that let out a feeling showed,
sawn only by the king's eighth daughter.

From olden time was taught,
to show emotions naught,
feelings to be hidden deep beneath.

The peasant went home with sadness,
through that strengthened his defenses,
strengthened to face the challenges ahead,

Never shall that defense be broken,
instead offense the peasant now added,
to go against the toughest of time.

An offense force that was designated,
from all past sealed feelings created,
a force so deadly that was never meant to be seen.

The peasant's offenses all prepared,
only time shall await death to arrive,
when all hell will be unleashed.

No longer will the peasant hold his peace,
the peasant if needed, will retaliate,
to uphold his pride, his honour, his integrity,
his loyalty, and his justice.
A justice that was never given to him.