I was in the National Portrait Gallery in London when I saw this old gentleman in his wheelchair moving with great purpose and seemingly oblivious to the crowd around him.
His lance a cane
His horse a wheeled chair
Armour a woollen shawl
Visor thick black rims
Wordlessly, relentlessly,
He slowly rolled forward
Frail hands on the wheels
Slumped in his saddle
Hunched over, determined
Hoping, still hoping
To find that left behind.
A quest for hope, for meaning, the Holy Grail of love.