the shield with the dove

As I looked 'cross golden fields,
soldiers approached bearing shields:
every one worn and tested
by battles but not bested.
Shining blue, the sky above,
drew light and revealed a dove
cast to iron on a crest
that one man held to his chest.
There, rested, unprotected
the dove would be subjected
to the torments of a sword
unflinching when swung forward.
Painful blows all ricochet
calmly as the birds do play.
Blind white from Apollo's rays,
I swore I saw an iron gaze
from this dove through the hot haze
I shut my eyes to the blaze
and saw the red silhouette
that my vision had just left
of the dove against the black
of tightly shut eyelids back.
The harder I clenched them shut,
the brighter the red light cut
through the darkness of my mind;
I can't stay willfully blind.
To my knees I fell and prayed,
"Forgive me, the beasts unslayed.
I should not have let them live.
Blind now, I see what I did.
A shielded life, I did make.
In golden fields, the mistake:
safe and sound I thought I'd be;
idleness took hold of me.
Battles lost, then passed me by -
Oh if only I did try..."
Suddenly, the ground did shake.
I woke and knew which to take.
Dove to chest, I drew my sword
to serve no one but the Lord.