By hand of righteous knight who roved the fen
When far from home I strove to earn renown,
My purpose unfulfilled, I was struck down.
Within this tomb, I rest to rise again.

Who would disturb my shade must dare my path:
To learn in lands remote my natal speech,
Assault the laws arcane until they breach;
Earn, and endure, doom and aftermath.

When I can act again, I take this oath:
To serve one hundred years of solemn aid,
And trustworthy — if trust I see repaid —
And at the end, to leave unharmed us both.

Who would with evil heart this offer claim
I shall destroy. I've had enough of blame.


I rule no legions risen from the deep,
Command no weapons larger than a knife.
In darkest night, I stay in bed and sleep.
I would not fit a supervillain's life.

Nor do I rage against a rotten world,
Nor seek to breathe the putrid scent of sin.
I've sense enough to keep my feelings curled,
And deep and cold, drown thoughts they flourish in.

I honour clocks and roads, and do not stray.
I hold my counsel close — to nothing swear.
My fears and dreams are safely locked away
Within my past. Not even I know where.

But questions haunt me still, and will not die:
What was I then? How did I end it? Why?

This is my response to the Daily Post prompt for “Vice”. I suspect vice should be dealt with at the source, if it exists. :-)