The Last Lost Cause

The Last Lost Cause
Twas black as pitch though sun shown bright
as Valentine set out that day
for parts unknown on stallion white
and whither went not one could say.
He took with him some wine to drink
a leg of lamb and lute to play
and without pause in which to blink
he mounted and was on his way.
His quest he breathed to not a soul
except perhaps his horse and friend
whom he had raised from but a foal
and on whose back his life would end.
"The Queen. The Cause. The Valiant death."
He preached that "This is what I seek."
He searched the land both length and breadth
from underground to mountain peak.
His greatest weapon was his lute
which wielded in his steady hands
had laid more foes beneath his boot
than all the swords in all the lands.
For when he played by anger griped
He played upon their darkest fears
and from his foe the courage slipped
his enemies reduced to tears.
The lute they say was made of bone
of dragon's spine from body torn
and strings that hummed an astral tone
were sewn from hair of unicorn.
The sound it made when played in joy
was that of laughter round the world
but played in hate it would annoy
the darkest gods in shadows furled.

<fragment - never finished>

-Sean Hastings