Thursday, 4 April 2013

NaPoWriMo Day 4: Lost

Well this devolved from a misheard Seth Lakeman lyric from the song The Bold Knight. Can't really say how it got here and really not sure if the last line needs to be there.


Mused by beer
we sings of the arms and of the men
bought by the king's coin.
We've always an audience
'cause it's easier to laugh
than admit that ice of terror.

We lurch again by noon blaze
but carrion won't dare circle us.
Our hangovers are miasma,
sweat the screams of fallen women,
movements fraught with a violence
our muscles barely chain.

As we enter the next town you'd swear
that mortar could tense, could whisper,
'These are no caballeros
of the rueful countenance.
Just horrors
with no Dulcinea to guide them.'

We settle to drink once more,
failing again to gorge on oblivion
and I pray to the knights above.
By the vicious silence of first light,
let me know a true enemy.
One that isn't in the mirror.

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