stork daddy Old Story

We all start out as Lancelot,
vivid, graceful, glad,
life the dirty word
under our breath
ornamenting our innocent faces
as we strive towards hidden dragons.
We all end as Arthur,
unable to move, no longer able
to maintain the very kingdoms
we once furiously created.
Each breath conquering more than
we can ever contain, expanding hopelessly
beyond our reign.
I sigh restlessly as I think,
she doesn't laugh as hard as she used to.
Unable to raise his hand valiantly, Arthur can merely
regretfully protest,
a million fleeting camelots long come and gone
in an old man's eyes might as well
never been there at all.
but there they remain, waiting to be called upon. each memory is a promise we're ready to keep,
a promise we hope they haven't forgotten about, those who started us on our quests, pure and imaginary but no longer innocent untill proven guilty. we see our scars on their face, and even praise seems like mockery in the interim of a once and future king.
what's it to you?
who go