Contentment

This is a short poem I wrote last year, at a time when I was feeling a little down. Its archaic language stems in part from the fact that I was reading Sir Gawain and the Green Knight at the time.

Contentment lies beneath the loam

Of frozen fields as yet unplowed;

It flies beyond seraphic skies,

Untouched, unfelt, and disallowed.

 

As errant knights before me rode

For grail bound, ‘neath rampant shield,

So do I make fearless quest

And seek contentment’s bounteous weal.

 

But whither I? Where shall I seek

To find the rarest prize of all?

Where its lodgings, where under heav’n

Does make its place in blissful hall?

 

I know not yet, but still I find

That I, undaunted, love this quest:

To find myself, at once, at last,

Ahold the beautiful and best.