Graal

When one day I went searching for the Grail,

the cup, the chalice, to wash away my every care

in life, I felt like King Arthur, whose mighty knights

ranged far and wide for the healing, the paramount,

the life-in-all-being, ever-eternal vessel, to give

and grant them all they could imagine.

I could not help but wonder, as I went searching

in the pages of Chrétien, as von Eschenbach led the way,

or the “pure fool” of Wagner was privy to the secret

which most every person wants to know: maybe it was

something in me lacking that led me to now and steadily seek

this thing, never knowing, ever always hoping.

One day, when I went searching, it was only because

I thought there should be more to life

than just the living: that there should be striving

for epic fantasies to paint the way into the future:

not to save myself, but sure I’d use it

for good, and not lose it to the forces

that set their courses to rule, and dominate.

But in this, there’s something, too, a little false:

to say a cup or chalice or pail, yes, indeed,

even the very Grail, has anything at all that could undo

all that life makes us endure: and, most of all, wield

its power, a mighty shield against the breath

of our greatest foe, the enemy, death.

So, stepping out to find the Grail, instead

of knightly bearing, I exude love, instead

of holy lances, I have hope: and, of course,

with such strength to arm me, how could it

be otherwise than to be my very salvation?