Don Qixote

The drunken knight on horseback,
Pursuing the eternal, unreal dream,
On the bend of the road to nowhere.

Blinded by illusions of yesterdays youth,
A thousand of invisible enemies,
All within himself.

Unaccounted memories of past glories,
Recreated in the fragile crystal ball of his mind,

Crossing the thin demarcation to insanity.

Sick, but let no one know,

The moments of his temporary eternity ticking away,

In his inferno where nightmares are born,
And dreams and rainbows,

And things that glitter.

Wishing for a speck of sunlight in his dark,

The glory of a decisive last victory,

In fleeting shades of colorful spectrums,

A universal applaud to reward his actions,

As though it mattered,
The crushing of evil, the triumph of good,

All laid down by human definition,

Of doubtful usefulness and questionable expediency,
In indignation to the absurdity of existence.

The Universe - a toy garden of abstract forms,

His world even smaller, crushing him,

His goals noble, but unknown,

The question in his mind still unanswered,

"If the motion of the planets was reversed,
Would time go back?"



© 2000 George Pararas-Carayannis

I know who I am, and who I may be if I choose.

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