Think of Hector dead
and dragged behind the chariot
around the mourning Troy,
and Priam inconsolate,
the king too long-lived
except instrument of revenge
through his coming murder,
the Greeks slaying the wrath of gods
upon their hoard-carrying ships,
bringing bronze blades to cut
the threads of life from victorious
flesh making hollow shades.
And think of Achilles
who would linger on this shore
in his blood-stained mound,
ruined exile before broken walls,
and no libations beyond the first blood
to quench the thirst of the wraith
that Apollo's arrow left
when the splendid armour
clattered to the ground
carrying a dead thing that rides
the chariot dragging a bloody carcass
proudly like the flames would
have made him immortal.
Think then how little
have the doomed
changed since Ilion bloomed red.
14.08.2025
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