The Knight Dubbed Don Quixote

Where corn stalks grow golden, beneath the forenoon setting sun,
The burying winds with shovel soldiers, The windmills slowly spun,
A lone knight upon his noble steed, Rising up from shadowed hills,
He was a Johnny Appleseed, Planting sunbeams to be tiled,
While people bellowed angry words, Love grew behind his steps,
Blazed on every trail taken, Rosinante never slept,
The endless dark clouds lifted, Ruptured by one brave saint,
Who on the dried out Spanish pastures, The fairytales he would paint,
Swept out of the cupboards, Were unspun compassed dreams,
Which escaped all their boundaries, From sinking tar pit streams,
He knew a better day was soon to come, As he knew of everyday,
He could shape it like a mountain, or let it slip away,
And in a moment’s notice, Don had broken roads to pave,
Sancho broke out from his confinement, He knew he had a world to save,
If not on billboards or in government, then where do true heroes lie?
They are the ones attempting to do good by saving lives,
That was all he tried to do, It’s all a knight could ever be,
The story of Sancho Panza, and the knight dubbed Don Quixote

A wagon stranded in an alley way, with wheels as the trash can’s lids,
And all the things inside the bag, Were never meant to be thrown in,
Wheels pierced by spears of war, Lancing stabbing to get freed,
Then Quixote said to Sancho, this is what our purpose must be,
We must free those who are ailing, Free any soul in distress,
The days ahead will look brighter, he said, with wars laid to rest,
Burdens held in the heroes lances, All the outlets in his hands,
His shield held on his bold heart, Which he used to protect lands,
With straw homes built around him, The knight sat on his saddle,
The wolf winds made unwavering sounds, The start of bloodshed battles,
The stars in the sky above, Drip down to aid in the fight,
They shine in the tears of victims, Who stare at missiles in their flight,
Better start running to the cellar, and escape through the descent,
As soon as Don took a step outside, The land around him had been spent,
Sliding down the new shaped valley, With Sancho by his side,
Don’s helmet of gold fell to the earth, And was stolen by a tide,
The waves ascended the two knights, Like headlights to a deer,
And a sling shot gave to Goliath, Was by warlord heathens revered

Don Quixote has overthrown them, It is not a dream anymore,
There were once iron parachutes, Pilling up before the ruler’s door,
The door through strong has broken, Fallen pieces in each hand,
What Don Quixote saw as a prison, Against love could not withstand,
All the locks all disappeared, They were all the world had seen,
But in the eyes of Don Quixote, Were slaves and death now seen,
So many people had been lost, In the greed of gold medallions,
More should hold dear the stately dreams, Of Quixote on his stallion,
All this time we’ve spent in a dungeon, Waiting for knights to set us free,
But all you need, says Sancho, Are the eyes of Don Quixote,
It is not up to Don Quixote, To cast you from your fears,
But you see deaths caused by windmills, Trying to blow away your tears,
Walls that flames have burned down, Now sweet flowers are afoot,
Ragging are the pastured winds, That blow away the blackened soot,
For so long a time, A fog can keep its hold,
But Sancho looks at all he had passed, Leaving behind the hidden roads,
If you are stuck on cobweb wheels, On a ship about to drown,
The shipmates stared from the crow’s nest, As Sancho lost his flightless down