The Warrior

Not a knight, nor a noble.
Never could he be called a king.
But he was a man of God, 
And that was more than enough.
A knight would fight for his nobleman.
To protect the title of his Lord.
And the nobleman would go to war for his king.
To ensure his portion of the kingdom remain his own.
The king would choose his adversary with gain in mind.
But as for the man of God,
He would battle for a far greater commodity.
Neither gold, land, or resource of any sort
Could scarcely compare to the worth of the soul.
His loyalty lies with the Lord of lords 
And his labors align accordingly. 
But his brand of battle boasted a far higher worth.
For he was only a single soldier of a holy army.
An army which every advancement was aided by angels' wings.
An army not just of men.
Not bound by gender or age.
Not limited by race.
Not cheapened by place of earthly origin.
His life would be spent in combat.
Not a moment of reprieve could be granted.
Not an instant off guard.
Too much lie at stake.
He forged his own armor in the way he had read.
His sword was bound with a leather spine
And filled with tattered pages.
He would wield it wisely knowing well his weapon's worth.
It could pierce even the hardest heart
And bring nations to their knees
So that all may bow before the King.