A Dream

I think I was born in the wrong era.
I wish I belonged to a world of knights and quests, where ballads were sung with gusto in the King's own court, where bards wandered the lands and earned their living doing so.
In a world where chivalry was not so dead, nor loyalty forsaken. Words were an art, and poetry common. Paintings had talent behind them, not some narcotic work of paint splattered on canvas with no skill or thought.
I want to live in a time when men showed integrity and worthyness and gallentry. When people were not so consumed by their own lives, by time and jobs and money, when people did not have to worry about pollution or bombs or the price of oil.
I want to live in a world where when you walk into a village, you are greeted by the sound of a blacksmiths hammer, the clop of iron shod horses, I want to see Kings greeted by trumpets and fanfare, where his men will gladly die for him. I want to see unwavering loyalty in the face of death.
When music was something heard upon a harp or flute and could bring tears to the eyes of courtiers, when soft sweet melodies were commonstance.
I want to see young lovers writing letters to one another, and meeting under a soulful moon, I want to see red roses and glorious castles.
I want a world that no longer exists.

I want a dream.