There is a night to savour here,

no cloud, bright stars and quieted streets,

     No ghetto bird to shine an ignorant pry,

        just a solemn dedicated night of loneliness.

 

     At Orions Belt the sword still hangs -

perhaps a beckoning Excalibur seeking that ‘one’ -

that has the greatness to wield him with honour,

     to use he just and never drawn unless………….

 

     The Scabbard looks bored,

   bored like there is nothing fashionable to engage -

a faculty of narcissism, but begs I look to the

     Seven Sisters for such offerings.

 

     ‘He directs my longing again towards woman!’

 

               Woman!

          I could cry for you forever,-

     as I could cry for this man who would have

  long ago dreamed the heroic cause to rescue her from

a thieving knife - yet,

      is Excalibur a more favoured steel?

 

     ‘To be with her and be the family where

Dad be the knight the children would cling to

   forever, safely keeping heart and soul for all life.’

 

     Where once there was romance and fantasy,

   there is now worn jeans, flecked jumpers and faded cloth,

          where once my liege be a fine black stallion -

               no Arabian Breed could win, there is only

                   my mobility scooter now – and all that keeps

                 me company, is a taunting clown that found out;-

                        ‘the best we are and the best of intention and integrity

                              is only a fool to be ridiculed where, those that don’t

                                  give a shit, are now the favoured champion,

                                                                                          the favoured fuck!’

 

Michael J Waite 7th February 2023.