Thursday, October 31, 2013

Dulcinea - and - Quixote

"Quixote", 1955 by Pablo Picasso

Written August 24, 2007

Windmills will always tilt at Truth,
no matter which way the wind may blow.

A man must have a companion
he can trust upon the journey
and a woman must have a man
she can lean on when she's weary
or to embrace when he is forlorn,
frustrated from the fickle directions of Fate.

She waits by candlelight for his crusades to cease,
baking bread she will not eat,
but only tosses to the hungry birds
gathering outside her open window,
wondering when he will come home -
or if he ever will stop wandering.

She is fragile in her devotion and stalwart in her faith -
she knows the quiet, empty rooms of her heart too well,
but will not fritter her hopes away
on endless folly.

Life is precious and moments spent drifting
in Love's sacred currents are far too few -
and once again, Winter is on its way...

Written March 11, 2010

He tilts his head as though he hears the wind whispering to him
to begin this journey of seductive faith.

He summons the sight of Dulcinea's frail and sturdy hands 
as they grasp his visions, and vows to save her, sight unseen; 
she must be a princess, not merely a peasant, after all, 
to engender such notions from his wild, misguided heart.

His obsession derived from misplaced heraldry, 
his neglect of comfort is stalwart, 
as is his elderly horse Rocinante, who carries him forth,
his humble servant trailing behind as unwilling, unwitting squire;

Don Quixote longs to sleep beneath the stars
while Pancho would prefer the Inn's
beds and blankets to soothe, its food and drink to savor.

The aristocratic are but cruel masters
while poor shepherds bask in weary warmth, 
compassion and philosophy attending their needs. 
Honor and integrity are questioned at length
and are found to be...well, quixotic.

His lance and whip at the ready for the sake of justice,
confusion swirls around in his head - 
he seeks fame and fortune to win his lady's favor,
slaking his thirst with a poisonous elixir that lays him low.

He dreams of giants, fighting in his ideal slumber.

Beyond jagged edges of nightfall, 
the Knight of the White Moon,
clad in extravagant, bright armor shall vanquish him, 
bringing chivalry to its ultimate demise -

or so the story goes...