Damned Quixote
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
When William Blake went mad, it was his soul
That drove him to it. It was far too straight,
As straight as light, unerring in its goal
When sent through vacuums like space, soul’s mate,
Its only mate, the holiness of Christ
Or that of Francis of Assisi, 
or
Perhaps the sacredness of both men spliced
Together. Innocence like theirs must soar
Like Don Quixote’s, only his at last
Was lost because the knight renounced his high
Ideals. His virtue turned him mad, aghast
His followers. Lord Byron laughed, too sly.
The “noblest views” become “mere fancy’s sport.”
He treats abandoned virtues as a wart.
~ Phillip Whidden