Like Don Quixote
I was tilting at windmills.
The futility of hoping you could kick your habit
just too much.
The cogs in your head turned
the stone of carelessness and ground on and on
grinding all my faith to dust.
In your cups your arms flailed
like the sails of windmills;
my pleas lost on the air they created.
Now I cannot look at a windmill
without regretting all that energy, wasted.

Comments
MistakenMagic | August 8, 2009 - 18:36
'In your cups your arms flailed
like the sails of windmills;
my pleas lost on the air they created.
Now I cannot look at a windmill
without regretting all that energy, wasted.'
- I really love the assonance in these lines Val, it really helps the rhythm of the whole poem ;)
Magic xxx
threeleafshamrock | August 10, 2009 - 10:02
Like this a lot; the second stanza is my favourite. Great imagery and a class piece.
Chris ;)