Beyond the Promised Land

Sometimes I dream of a white knight, or maybe is just a friend ?
But then its only a mirage, faceless with blurred edges, undefined.
Sometimes I dream of white flags, me personal war done,
don't matter even if is won, but peace of mind would be nice.

But reality along with a mirror are cruel mocking truths.
What knight would want this unvirtuous wench ?
Who wants to befriend a social pariah ?
An theres no peace for a devil.

I'm tired. Knuckles never healing, knees permanently bleeding,
pretending I got no feeling.
Armours rusted, shield battered, swords bent an busted,
climbing an falling from the citadels buttress.
Where even if I do clamber over I'll never be welcomed or wanted.

From my desert of scorned earth I'm bombarded by images of the 'Promised Land'.
Always its just over the next horizon.
Once I tried to get in legitimately, passport in hand an some failed GCSE,
from the battlements they jeered at me, then slammed the door on this refugee.
The fires of hate had been lit,but the declaration of war went ignored,
an army of one is no threat.

No arrow can penetrate my armour, no axe can dent my shield and no lance
can pierce this heart.
But ignorance, arrogance an laughter,
are wounds that penetrate so very deep.

Under a rock in my wasteland I see warm fires glow in their keep.
Alone, sometimes I weep, an wonder why am I banished ?
I realise now the longer I'm here, the worse the smell of decay
that wreaks an festers from my every pour.
Nothing grows in Hell, I've tried, I live off rubbish an waste from the citadel.
Kept alive to be used as a lesson in failure.

What self respecting knight would want this ?