Lightining in the Lyst

 This one is for all my jousting/medievally minded friends.....I love it, hope you at least LIKE it. :-)
 
 
O'er the hill, you hear the roar, as the crowd cries satisfaction
And your curiosity leaps ahead to know the cause of their reaction
Your feet carry you swiftly till you hear the roll of growing thunder
Then the bowing crack of lightning splits your imagination asunder
 
Now you crest the bosom of land and what do your eyes behold?
'Tis the noble sport of jousting, as practiced in days of old
Your mind feasts on the spectacle as knights reach for the lance
Then turn their steeds again in this deadly game of chance
 
Each destrier moves the earth as they rumble to their goal
Their barding catching the wind while something moves in your soul
Then lance tips meet grandguards and lighting strikes once again
Showering splinters of strength in this contest of horse and man
 
One knight is rocked in his saddle from a violent blow to his chest
But he recovers, by will alone, then brings his mount to rest
Now you hurry closer, to see how this story will play out
While the squires hand up a lance And the herald calls for a shout
 
The audience complies and you gladly add your eager cheers
Yet even over the din, some sound still reaches your ears
It's the press of your heartbeat lodged in your breathless throat
As the knights turn their last pass and time just seems to float
 
Like a old slow motion picture, you can see each grand detail
Leaning forward amongst the press of the public on the rail
Hooves seek purchase in ravaged sand they've trod before
Nostrils stretch to seek the wind as spurs ask steeds for more
 
Armored bodies lean forward to better seek the coming blow
Stainless glitters in afternoon sun, tension continues to grow
Then as lances come to bear like missiles targeting an enemy
The last part of your heart cuts loose and sets you free
 
Contact is made, and once more you hear the lighting crack
Shrapnel flies like confetti, and one knight leaves his steeds back
He falls not like a leaf in autumn but like a train hurtles its track
And your heart stops in your chest, your jaw goes to slack
 
Then the mob is screaming glory and you add your ardent voice
Though you worry for the fallen, your heart gives you no choice
The victor throws the scrap of his lance, it cartwheels through the air
He exit's the lyst and lifts his fist, his success ours to share
 
He meets the squires at the block, they lift the helm from his head
He pats his horse in gratitude for running bravely where he led
As he dismounts, he turns, to look for his fallen opponent
Who rises from the verdant field in a squires work of the moment
 
The two meet, and clasp their wrists in bonds of brotherhood
So that two victors now stand where once only one had stood
And you raise your voice with the crowd once more at this display
Knowing you have been changed forever by the lighting in the lyst today