The Quest...Part 2 Of 2 Poem by Shaun Cronick

FIGHT!
Fight!
Fight!
Draw your sword!
And kill it!
My inner voice commands.
As it thunders towards me,
With blistering speed.
It's nearly upon me.
Then I draw my old, rusty, small sword.
My only protection.
My only weapon.
Against this pulsating mass,
Of blackness and evil!
Incredible!
Unbelievable!
And magnificent!
For my ancient, two foot sword,
Has transformed itself,
It's doubled in length,
And no longer a rusty, chipped iron blade.
It has become whiter than white,
All the time glowing brighter,
As huge, whiter than new snowdrops,
Spit and crackle off it's long length.
I feel it's power.
And it's goodness.
Then the blackness stops and backs away,
From me and it.
It's weary.
It fears my weapon.
And perhaps me.
And if it fears,
It can also die.
A pause.
Now as we stand-off,
Facing each other,
All the time,
Pointing my glowing weapon at it.
I now see it, for what it really is.
A floating black inverted cross,
The same height as me.
And at it's black centre,
A blacker than black pulse,
Like a beating heart.
It's heart!
I strike!
And it moves quickly to my right hand side,
And a black blade emerges from it.
We duel!
Strike after strike!
Blow after blow.
To no avail.
A stalemate.
We duel for hours,
My strength never leaving me.
But, it's getting smaller,
Tired of defending itself.
Gradually all the time.
This is no stalemate now!
I double my efforts.
My resolve is iron.
Then at last it starts to move away,
Much slower than when it first attacked me.
It wants to retreat and hide from me and
The soon to emerge new dawn,
And it's first light.
Sunlight!
I try something different,
Before it floats upward,
And out of my reach,
To escape and kill again.
I feign a lunge,
And throw my weapon like a ball,
Towards its black heart.
It strikes!
And deep!
And true!
Suddenly a screech and hiss,
Like that I've never heard,
Emanates from it,
Deafening to my ears.
A roar!
An anger!
A curse!
Then silence.
An absolute silence.
I pull out my weapon,
Then plunge it in deeper.
As it starts to shrink.
Shrivelling up.
To a small pile of black dust.
Like coal dust.
Defeated,
And dead.
And as dawn breaks,
My sword once again is small, rusty and chipped.
I collapse to my knees now exhausted.
Thank God I say.
And utter a silent prayer.
Some time passes and I remain on my knees,
As birdsong reaches my ears,
Sunlight now shines between the tree's leaves,
Onto the black dust.
And I see,
There's a glint,
A small glint,
Of something shining,
Among it.
I rush over and brush the vileness away.
The glint has now become a beacon.
A shining beacon.
It's beautiful.
It renews my strength instantly.
I feel its goodness,
And feel reborn.
I smile.
Found it!
I have found what I seek!
What the slaughtered knights and monks were protecting.
And were to present to their fellow monks at the church.
I smile again,
And make the sign of the cross.
Then another prayer.
One of thanks.
I wrap it lovingly in fern leaves.
I return to the church.
Greeted warmly by the monks,
Then show them what should have delivered to them.
They are all astounded.
I leave quietly,
For my quest has ended.
As each monk is now in a state of rapture.
Knowing their treasure is safe and secure.
The treasure they call,
The Holy Grail.

I awake,
To dream again...