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Chris Saitta Jun 2019
The Trojan dead are whispering
Indecipherable secrets to sodden-eared earth.
The wind has eyes and sees beyond, Titans outremembered.
Ajax and his oft-turned back
Carries again the fallen from the fields:
     The ******-slept clouds, unsuspecting;
     Slumped Achilles of disbelieving-godless eyes,
     Flinging the final spear of his own blood.
     Soldiers all now of the green husk.
Titanic silence engulfs sound,
Except from those who mourn.
The storm is only a storm
As long as the leaves are lost.
Such is the untimely, timeliness of war.
In the post-Illiad Homeric world, Achilles was struck in the heel by an arrow shot from Paris, brother of Hector, whom Achilles had defeated in battle during the Trojan War.

Though there are many variants to the myth, Ajax who was known as much of a warrior as Achilles, in many of these tales carries his body from the field in a show of honor.

For a slide video of this and other poems, please check out my Instagram page at chrissaitta or my Tumblr page at Chris-Saitta.
Kris Learmonth May 2019
ACHILLES son of king PELUS of PHTHIA.
From near Thessalia not Sparta.
Born near where you parents married on mount Pelion.
Your mother Thetis a NYMPH known by AGAMENON.
King MENELAUS'S betrayal the Greeks all cross the Aegean.
Odysseus and PATROCLUS an armada some by passing the CRETAN.
Sons of Priam killed and only Odysseus escaped back to Ithica.
The BESIEGING of Troy in a wooden horse from Sparta.
Prince of the Myrmidon's to avenge PATROCLUS it's HECTOR you cut down.
All Troy did burn weak horse lovers they should have fled and in the RIVER STYX they would drown.
Greeks. Greek heroes. ACHILLES.
Nabiila Azzahra Feb 2019
X
‪It’s hard to conjure up a forest fire‬
My flames are quiet and I tremble
I flinch
I buckle at the knees
My fight or flight senses were birds in their past lives
I am sorry I was not born Achilles, marching into every war with certainty, never knowing a sliver of doubt
Prophecies of greatness do not cling to me like summer air
I open my mouth and words betray me, for I am no Odysseus with his honey tongue
But heed this promise: I will create something one day
A great many somethings, born not from innate divinity but perseverance
Like Daedalus with his artist’s mind, craftsman’s hand, quiet thinking, deliberate talking
I am becoming
Like golden witch Circe in Aeaea, feeling her way through strange new grounds
Someday, someday, somewhere else
You will see me bloom
Em MacKenzie Jan 2019
I have never considered myself weak.
Physically, I have nothing to fear,
I believe myself capable of defending myself from any violent attack that may ever come.
Believing in your own strength is half the battle, after all.
I also rest on the assurance that I will die fighting if need be,
where not many would risk that chance, or persist to have to ****** someone.
I will die on my feet, I will die fighting,
I am afraid of nothing that can hurt my skin.

But,
and there always is a but,
I am terrified of that which can hurt me internally.
You can’t fight feelings,
you can’t hold your own against
love, or sadness, anger or betrayal.
I loathe being vulnerable,
especially when no one attempts to convince you there’s nothing to be afraid of.
Atleast they haven’t lied about that.

I have had women who have left me abandoned in glass boxes,
who have turned on a tap and let the water flow and fill up the space,
promising me they would return when the water touched my chin.
Acting as if it was an a show of affection, providing me with a warm bath to soothe my soul.
But they’ve left, I drowned,
and once discovered, not one could bother to administer CPR.
They gave no condolences to what family I have left,
nor show up to the funeral,
they did not even shed one tear.

But yet, years later they seek out my headstone,
hesitating at the wrong plot because they couldn’t bother to learn the correct spelling of my name.
But they would dig me up, pry open my coffin,
and gently part my decomposed eyelids so they had someone’s eyes staring only at them.

If you **** someone,
atleast have the decency,
to let them rot in peace.
Just slightly bitter today. No big deal.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Chryseis, the plague
Agamemnon's lust returned
Slave traded for rage
Just realized I messed this up, originally I had the last line as Briseis traded for rage that would make this 5-7-7 so I had to fix it.
jay Jun 2018
i once was asked to describe him
to explain the aspects that rendered me
feeble, restless
for i was unable to answer
i'll give you
this

his eyes,
hues pulled straight out of a sunset lulled together
to create his golden honey palette
the ones that have me trapped
in a whirlwind of mania

his structure,
created from stardust
taken from only the brightest of stars
merged together to create his heavenly form
for this sight has left me
lurking through space
yearning for
more

his voice,
constructed from
the sweet strums
of achilles' lyre
the one he played
for patroclus
that led him
into a frenzy
of love and
desire

as you do with i
yoon jeonghan, you are not simply human
but an act of wonder pulled together from
the most pristine luxuries life has to offer
for you are truly,
divine

or in other words -
"i took a night stroll and remembered a question i was asked days ago and supposed that i should finally give my answer"
Jas Nov 2017
Don't live your life filled with rage. Don't drag dead weight around for 9 days.
Gabriel burnS Aug 2017
Heels harder than steel
Sharper still
In his heart
Smooth arks
Curves looping
Strong desires
Cutting loose
Weak restraints
Through frail defenses
His achilles heel
A separate entity
Embodied in the shape
Of a fallen angel
Insatiably inviting
The arrows of Apollo
Choosing carefully
Her Paris-es
sharon Jul 2017
patroclus.
remember me?

listen.
i no longer have all the things
i am proud of anymore.

the golds i have are gone
when i refused finishing a war.
the empire i brag about are gone
when i stopped fighting
the trusts people gave me are gone
when i didn't **** a man.
i am no one.
i have nothing left now.

but why all that
doesn't a lot matter to me?
i lost everything,
but i was not lost.

i was lost
when you laid in my arm
for the last time.
i promised i would protect you.
but i didn't.
i let him aimed you.

the stain of your blood
never disappeared.
the last scent of your body
haunted me.
the tone of your voice
became an alarm to my ears. .

i wasn't dead
when an arrow hit my heel.
because maybe,
my real weakness is you.
- why did you have to take 'i will take an arrow for you' way too literally?
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