Knight-errant

I asked you

what kind of music you liked.

"Straight rock"

you replied*

and I knew then

that you were too serious

and yet

too beautifully strange

to live

among the fools,

the useless tools

who make

the goddamn rules.

You should have been born

five hundred years ago.

I can imagine you,

hanging loose as a Goth goose

at Hampton Court.

I can picture you

duelling with The White Knight

with a grill pan

filled with congealed bacon grease;

winning the hands

of the fairest maidens,

the rarest maidens,

bred to recognise style,

suavity, good manners

and old fashioned courtly love

when it's proffered

in the palm

of a black leather glove.

For good or ill,

you were put there

on a pedestal,

crepuscular yet visible

in off-white dressing gown,

from the dusk

until the dawn.

Like Saint Simeon,

you will not be moved.

Now the evening's

drawing in.

Keep fighting,

brave Sir Knight!

B.R. 27/10/2020

*I still don't know what this means btw. BR.

Two punters at the 2018 Wave Gothic Meet-Up (WGT) in Leipzig.
Say what you like about Goths, they've got style.