the Quest for Rejoice

to mine and far sharper eyes
this beautified world wears a veil
stitched of pride, or lust or fruit-bearing tradition;

her latest dragon has unnatural scales,
blows leporous fire,
and snorts the very fog of war:
no, not the amiable unknown of the map room
but soul sickness of farm-dreaming soldiers;

and even when this terror is slain
with a lance of courageous life love
and a shield forged in burn-won learning:

even now, her cave is deep and full of dwellers beyond belief:
brave and ferocious bats,
sixty foot squids,
and timeless grizzlies with ruthless jaws easily stirred at the sound of new arrivals.

and should a man survive this cosmically indifferent labyrinth
and chase his mecca to an enclosed cavern,
even then his victory is fleeting
less he sings a slow, honeyed song:

a song I do not know.