Don Quixote

I’ve been trapped in its headwind,
no respite or hiding place,  
the weathervane points me out,  
creaking as the cockerel finds me.  
It demands a sacrifice,
It’s neck asking to be sliced.  
 
When I close my eyes I see the hill,  
a derelict windmill, its cold silhouette  
carved by storm clouds,  
tattered blades turn  
in the flash of lightening.  
 
I take the rancid flour from its mill,  
purge my bloodstream with black weevils  
and hang as pale as Bowie’s clown.
My frown coughs up enough makeup  
to colour the flames  
as the fake building burns.  
 
I can hear my Don Quixote at the door,  
a comedic black knight  
trampling the ground around my bed,  
calling out across the white poppy field,  
a mad saviour who can only exist  
to paint his smile on my failure.  
 
 

 
Impossible dreams are never too far to attain
It is not lunacy to imagine or envision
But it is madness to give up on them
For the heart is filled with adventure
 
Each of us has an epic journey
To reach the far ends of the earth
Beyond the limits of our imagination
To fight for what is right and true
 
Perhaps it is on these travels
We will find love and courage
We will have chivalry and honor
When facing adversity
 
Look! Just beyond the horizon
Monsters in the distance
Giants with large extending arms
Threatening sprawling behemoths
Menacing and ominous creatures
Looking to bring us harm
 
Prepare to fight!
For their end is here
With lance, sword and armor
We will never surrender

My love is fierce
A blade that I wield
From the end of my strong arm

Valiant and true

I fight
And pierce
And stab my way to victory

To your heart

But in my raptures and my fantasies
I,
Enraged and impassioned,
Move too quickly

And I learn that love
Is always fragile,
No matter how strong it appears to be

Our hero clad , his armour shines
to do such deed's    
the dastardly put to the sword  
with flourish and with speed  
 
 Swirl upon the tundra's dust  
the giant arms that churned about  
 giants forms in winds that gust  
the  enemy that stands so stout  
 
As clouds of dust obscure the skies  
and as he mounts his trusty steed  
concerned, his apoplexy rise  
the invader to defeat  
 
By steeple tower and weather vane  
 cloak drawn cross the eyes for shade  
dark clouds erupt the thunders bane  
the menace howls in bold disdain  
 
 Sirocco wind, stoke the hero's rage  
his charger champing on the rein  
the threat it's overpowering strength so great  
shattered and impotent, would soon be laid  
 
Turmoil and storm, the compass swirl  
 to all points the arm did twirl  
and rent the windmills ugly sails  
 Don Quixote lived to tell the tale