|He held the future in his hand,|
Alone against the vast Abyss,
And prayed to find a better man.
He railed against the dark demand
Not his, the fault, not his, the plan,
The Holy cup lay in this land,
Lord, give me strength! I understand
Yet he received no reprimand
Mikal Trimm has sold his speculative fiction and poetry to numerous venues. He currently resides in a little town outside of Austin, Texas, where he dreams of residual checks….
This poem came from the challenge of writing a villanelle (a strictly-defined poetic form using repeating lines throughout the piece) and an unshakeable fascination with the various elements of the Arthurian legend. This is the first (and possibly last…) attempt at the form I ever attempted.