Pin a heart on us, the living;
We, the unmoving.
The deceased have more breath
Than our breathing.
Emblems of our emptiness
And weakness
Puncturing hunger’s sleeve with
Dreary brooch.
Cackling our minute’s final gasp
With warring,
Weak idols pinned to proud chests,
Unfilled, all.
Pin sweet thoughts upon the dull,
Not pennants
Of gluttony, empire, warfare
And oil.
Whilst our children die for those
Already dead
Let us begin anew with this; the worlds
Flagless living.
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
~The very first two lines of the Iliad read:
μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος
οὐλομένην, ἣ μυρί' Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε' ἔθηκεν,
Rage—sing, goddess, the rage of Achilles, the son of Peleus,
the destructive rage that brought countless griefs upon the Achaeans...
Achilles is the only mortal to experience consuming rage (menis). His anger is, at times wavering, at others, absolute. The humanization of Achilles by the events of the war is an important theme of the story. ~
O! Handsome warrior!
Great fleeting Achilles!
Your death, where water touched you not,
resounds in this; our flag-flooded globe.
Who can fly their banner higher?
March in more an eloquent step?
Harmonize more superbly
the sacrosanct song?
O! Thetis!
Had you but anointed your child
in a sea of flags
and not the river Styx...
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
The Funny Side of Troy
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