Quest
I
I want to shed
the tournaments and worm-piercing,
the joust gouges, the tickling tainted hearts,
the grotesque loneliness; this blemished quest.
I've become a self-directed lance tip.
Sluggish blood shuffles around this skull,
dulling each thudding step as my mount trudges
under my control. Toward what end, I don't know.
I have flushed my oath and supplanted virtue with duplicity.
I slither and coil.
Without armor, I am impotent;
yet with it I am scorched.
I once thought that some ivory few needed fit protection
from the hosts I represent;
now I frantically bide time
and suspect fate.
Each lissome lass I petition
appears identical to the last vestal damsel I distressed:
the full eyes; the hyacinth scent dancing in the hair;
the injured visage when she realizes I'm no Lancelot;
and the challenge to confront her as an equal.
And always, I want to say to her,
"You remind me of a memory,
as you have in the past."
And never do I muster the mettle to ask "Why?"
They never hunger for love; they crave romance,
and not from some humdrum rider, carapaced.
Ultimately, I have found no final rest exists,
only respites in the conquests.
And I am but a tine on the spear
piercing myself.
II
Too much saddle-time
saps and taxes.
I detest ass calluses
but have adapted.
At times, I'm half-inclined
to leave the maidens in their castles
choking on tangled tresses
dangling over parapets,
For the sundry lovers
blend into one,
And when I turn away, some seem
to modify their course;
But when I charge toward others,
they abscond.
I sometimes dream
that I'm a mounted horse.
III
Erosion will, I fear, in time, disclose
that quests are poor procurers of ideals.
Each day we wither slightly, and expose
unwittingly the waste each hour reveals.
We conjure bumptious dragons from desire,
then tug the beasts to enervate their shove.
A subtle wink is all that I require.
A quest is all that I have known of love.
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Bullets
Sung by Aubrey W.
Lyrics & melody by jb