In a morning field so vast and green,
A knight sits alone, his armor's sheen.
The dew still fresh on blades of grass,
Reflects a past that seems to pass.

The sun begins its gentle rise,
Casting light through morning skies.
Birds awaken with a cheerful song,
But the knight's heart, it feels so wrong.

He thinks of battles fought and won,
Of friends who fell beneath the sun.
Their faces haunt his weary mind,
In the quiet, he's left behind.

"What purpose do I truly serve?"
He asks the wind with a voice that curves.
"Am I but steel and flesh, a tool,
Or is there more beyond this duel?"

The field around him, serene and calm,
Seems to offer no balm.
For all his strength and might in war,
He yearns for something more.

His sword, once swift and strong,
Now feels heavy, like it does not belong.
The blood that stains its sharpened edge,
Is a silent, crimson pledge.

He remembers a time before the strife,
A simpler, gentler kind of life.
When he was just a man, not knight,
And dreams were pure, and hearts were light.

The laughter of a loved one's face,
A tender touch, a warm embrace.
These memories, they sting and burn,
To that life, he'll never return.

For in the green of the morning field,
The scars of time are not concealed.
Each flower, each whispering breeze,
Reminds him of past joys, and griefs.

The knight lifts his gaze to the sky,
"Why, oh why," he begins to cry,
"Do I exist in this cruel game,
Where valor and glory turn to shame?"

The heavens give no clear reply,
Just the silent passage of clouds by.
Yet in his heart, a seed is sown,
Of questions deep and answers unknown.

He ponders fate and destiny,
Of what is real and what should be.
Is he the master of his plight,
Or just a pawn in endless night?

The sun climbs higher, warming his face,
But cannot thaw the chill of his space.
For all the beauty that surrounds,
His soul feels tethered, bound.

Yet somewhere in the morning's grace,
He finds a hint, a touch, a trace.
Of hope, of meaning, perhaps unseen,
In this world of battles, fields, and dreams.

For every scar upon his heart,
Is but a piece, a solemn part,
Of the journey he's meant to take,
Through dawns and dusks, through bends and breaks.

So in the green field, he sits and stays,
Lost in the depths of morning haze.
A knight, a man, in search of light,
To give his weary soul respite.

And though the answers elude his grasp,
In every breath, he learns to clasp,
The fleeting moments, small and sweet,
That make his troubled life complete.

For in the quiet, in the dawn,
A knight's true strength is drawn.
Not from battles won or foes defeated,
But from the peace his heart has needed.

So here he rests, beneath the sky,
In the green field, he starts to try,
To find himself, to understand,
The purpose of his heart and hand.

And though the road is long and steep,
He knows that in his soul, deep,
There lies the strength to carry on,
Through every night, to each new dawn.