the Quest

It has got to be inside the Flower of Ivory and White Wood, they say.
Or, underneath the wings of Frozen Ladybugs.
Either, in between the guts of a Nightingale,
in the belly of a White Bear
or in the inner part of the Sea Urchins (trapped in Seabeards).
Where is it, really?

To follow the hunger, not. - Rather with cohesive Foolishness and Wide-eyeness we bow and we consistently crawl these mountains and forests in the Long Quest asigned. No, we do not complain and yes, we manage to embrace the pain in the Knees of Ours. The armor is no longer wanted or needed, the Queen's orders. We're left, only with the fur, and with hope in our hearts. We eat Raw-ish Fishes and Unhatched Eggs from birds, and the Queen provides the bread sometimes. We make the jelly out of Ripe Fruits. We take a break from the Quest and we sit somewhere inside the forest, and with bagpipes, bithels and harps, we joyfully let a tune or two out. The enemy haunts us but the Queen quickly casts a spell and they are no longer a burden. Oh, how committed are we, for nothing has yet been found. What has it been? Two centuries, seventy-two years. Oh, how the mythology brought us to where we are today.

As for me? I continue searching, but no longer in Queen's command. I long for the day where I can return to the village and maybe start anew, teaching the little fellow how to build mangers in the barn, and maybe going to the sea, the three of us, hand-holding. Carrying the stigmas of what used to be an extortion but is now a lesson learned, buried, burned. By the sea then, with wide moonlight, with a barely perceived horizon, towards the unknown.

And, the cold sand is in our feet and, we really don't care.







For now.