Laurels adorned in the valley of Spartans
the breed excels at the call
fleet of mind
at home on the lectern of sages
the silent call of the Titan Africanus
show me no daggers or swords
for in the armoury of the visionary
fearless truth scythe bloodlessly
leaving the headless vanquished
dancing in the cabral of the undead
snatching defeat from the mouth of defeat
in blinded sight slave gladiators room their chains
but there are no free men in the Arena
and in hushed musing
a Titan sublime cast eyes below
to watch the vain and faint
the ludicrous go from the ridiculous to the absurd
knowing
the real battle is in the hearts
real men with hearts do not fight battles
Titans are Titans because they are Titans
they garrison not with hollow animus
of the fractured republic
fighting itself
with fractured hearts
and fractured minds and heads