Don Quixote
When the world's at a brink, I write it off
I'm sorry if that means happiness isn't in my trough
They think I'm tilting at windmills
But you know I ride my trusty steed for a noble cause
The causeway is untrodden, my claymore hollow
And my inadequacies feed the vanguard charge to the fill
Triumph over straw men until I'm swallowed
I might stumble on a snake but I've never had a lawn to mow
Faith comes and goes but always in prose
The mission consistently grows in the face of civilization's throes
Woe is the knight who is not mad
For he must be, sever anger and be sad
For they know not what they do
Forever isn't true, the infinite lives inside me and you
I pray my soul grasps out of the blue
To quit being a slave to the pitiful Earthly grave
This poem is about:
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: