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#patroclus
I used to hate the grey And everything it stood for. The cold The waves The friendships I outgrew. I used to hide in my closet, So I wouldn’t have to see it. Six years later I do not know love But I imagine the wind around me Sounds something similar to what Achilles heard When Patroclus said they were gods. Now I live for the grey Like I live as the grey; The cold settled in my bones, The waves leak from my eyes, The friends I learned to love, And now I find comfort in the grey.
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Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 9:26 PM UTC
The Grey (I Do Not Know Love)
My beloved partner; The hero of them all. My beloved partner; The greatest warrior of our time. My beloved partner; The prettiest of them all. My beloved partner; The devoted lover of mine. My beloved partner; A selfish man in disguise. My beloved partner; who doesn’t care who lives or dies. My beloved partner; A man with dignity. My beloved partner; Who let my blood soak in his hands. My beloved partner; A man with nothing left but himself. My beloved partner; Who can’t conquer his destiny.
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Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 11:20 AM UTC
Dignity
just like the ocean kiss the shore. I want you. all of you all the time in my dreams in my breaths in my skin and bones in my blood I desire for us to be the great Patroclus and Achilles. just like how the Achilles calls Patroclus "PHILTATOS" and how the Patroclus knows Achilles in "DEATH." I shall know you at the end of the world.     What I desire between us is their love to one another.   cause I am not ready to let you go yet. but just like Patroclus I shall long for you in the after world.
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Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 2:34 AM UTC
Bound in Devotion
I never learn, I never learn Keep mourning your ashes in the golden urn You were the dawning sun opened wide A purity I slaughtered for the god inside I never fade, vague as fog, I never fade Into the scarlet waters, I wade Dusk weeps and deserted I wait Wait, I wait, O timeless Patroclus, I wait A thousand ships, all united, set sail To free their heavenly queen and her veil A thousand ships I could’ve let burn Into the wretched battle had you not run Rambles, rambles on this silent sea Your extinguished heart will hear not a plea You took all the humans in me along This bleak divinity, worth not a single song Never not do I hope, never not I hope, I hope, in this despaired hope I rot You lurk a painful past in my unseeing gaze As rows upon rows of men I raze In the halls of living, I search for your name Your love-licked body I surrendered to my flame I hear your starlit lips yell at me to stay Achilles, Achilles, live, you ****** sun, they say All my charismatic promises I forget This wish, sweet moon, you shall not get I tear then my heart in search of you A river red as doom, and a stillness blue I am here, Patroclus, now spare me this lone My frenzied ghost screams soundless on Our ashes kiss and kiss in the golden urn I never learn, alas, I never learn
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Jul 9, 2021
Jul 9, 2021 at 3:39 PM UTC
Sweet moon
i felt this sorrow once before      when your name spelled patroclus and mine achilles
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Dec 27, 2020
Dec 27, 2020 at 1:34 AM UTC
déjà vu
Oh, Achilles, Achilles, How they sing of your anger. The merciless, unforgiving anger Of which you felt at the loss of your Patroclus. Why is there no melody of your melancholy? The crushing weight, heavy on your chest, The undesirable yearning to continue this life Without your better half. Oh, Achilles, Achilles, Will you sing to me About your agony? Will you sing to me of how you sent The one you adored the most Into battle, baring your armor? Oh, Achilles, Achilles, Will you sing of how it made him Into someone he did not know? And as he went to you in a dream And told you his last desire, Did you know? Oh, Achilles, How he loved you.
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Dec 23, 2020
Dec 23, 2020 at 12:24 AM UTC
Oh, Achilles
body like a Hoplite, raised from the dust to lay the land- sent armed ashen spear and heart, trunks of armour clad legs growing into the clay coloured Earth rooted. these lyre-heartstrings taut with longing. to see a browbeaten Myrmidon, in daylight. watch, as the breath of Zeus escapes Grecian chests, concave with muscle Olympus itself exists within those crevices. i lay offerings, ambrosia soaked spoken word at the under-flesh of your calf laying beside myself in hope the whispers bestowed to you from the Fates on the eve of Troy mean less with your lips, pressed to wine, against mine.
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Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 4:29 PM UTC
Grecian (Patroclus' lost words: I)
did You dream of the war when We were young?
 when the war was a far away nightmare days were peaceful and no song was unsung and doom was coming, with Us unaware You were doomed to fight and be a Hero and I, was a mere follower of You yet You love me like there's no tomorrow our love were something no one could undo the Fates said no Hero could be happy Gods and Goddesses were also unjust so You defied them, tried so hard to be as lovers and soldiers, We would attest home was somewhere in our warmth and our eyes alas war was cruel, it's gone as I died
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Oct 22, 2020
Oct 22, 2020 at 8:56 AM UTC
Lovers Die Young
fierce and benevolent these eyes of gold warm and shattering against the light of sunkissed skin on marble floors he's sweet as figs and sharp as a sword and his heels pink and unmarred by the heat of the sun when our bodies touch for the first time two souls intertwine sewn together by threads of fate i feel nothing other than him and his gentle gaze and soft hair but dawn comes around during the pouring of blood from our cupped hands onto tainted sheets of dishonour and rage and when i breathe my last breath he roars, like a lion loud enough for the gods to hear and does not stop until his face hits the earth with a smile.
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Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 9:52 AM UTC
achilles
He fought for honor with Achilles Two brothers in arms against the world of treachery and deceit No one saw the tender gazes that the two shared in their last goodbye A final brush of their hands as they shake with an uncertain future Patroclus knew he would die Dressed in his lovers armour At the hands of his lovers enemy And in his death he'd bare his heart with one final grand gesture He'd gladly exchange his life For his beloved Achilles
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Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 8:07 PM UTC
Patroclus; honored friend
i understand the Greeks When they wrote of boys turning to men as “in the flush of their strength”. as if the tides of youth, had burst it’s banks flooding childhood, like the Mycenae against Troy.
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Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 7:49 AM UTC
The sands of time flow through bones of children
Cleopatra and Patroclus reflect upon the same cursed mirror
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Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
Shared Reflection
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
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Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
divinity
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.
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Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC
patroclus. patroclus.
mingle our ashes let us not part in death let the memory (itwillnever-wilt-nor-blossom-both) be all that is left.
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Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
Burial Rites
who would have thought that his smile and soulful eyes could bring Achilles the mightiest of heroes to his knees certainly not Patroclus himself for the sun does not know that it shines so beautifully it just does
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Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 2:13 AM UTC
achilles and patroclus
what was once Ivory has now returned to granite BOTH WE LIE, IN THE EARTH, yet i.. i am still tortured with breath, with sight. there is no need of voice. i will hang on the farewell as it is a rope from Troy around my neck. lull me down with you please, please, please. i am nothing but that. there is nothing more to be said. HOW DO YOU LIVE WHEN WHAT MADE YOU YOU IS DEAD? (sleep in the wheat, i will be there soon.) you find the quickest way to them instead.                                                                                                     i am not sorry.
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Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC
Achilles & Patroclus
Achilles does not sleep. Instead, he seeks the lover’s embrace and curved lips alongside which he went to war; Those same that he did not find, Once the dark mist had come swirling down over his eyes And his soul went winging down to the House of Death, with a soldier’s sigh of relief. He had whispered in Charon’s ear, “Take me to him.” Charon had rowed on, but held his silence. By way of greeting, a thousand faces turned away, And no trace of his beloved’s sweet smile as he disembarked, no warm hand to take his own. “Patroklus,” he cries, And goes unheard. Thus; Achilles does not sleep. He is Achilles; he does not wait. He is Achilles; instead, he aches. He is Achilles; instead, he searches. Over the horizon, he chases Patroklus’ laugh and the turn of his wrist. He lingers in all the shadowed corners of eternity, Leafs through the pages of unforgiving, unyielding posterity, Whispers “Patroklus, best of the Myrmidons” and sends his name through the winds. The headstrong runner does not drag his feet as he scours the world, As he chases ghosts across the face of the earth. Restless, he is never still, Knows that each step must carry him closer, Knows that each ragged cry may be the one That is finally answered, Each rendition the wound to be finally salved. He haunts, and is haunted. ‘I did not feel it,’ he thinks. 'It should have been as though Hektor’s pierced my side, in turn. Did they not say we were one?’ As if what he felt, when they told him, had not been enough. (Scamander would disagree). One day, smiling among the cypress, he will cease. One day, the thousand faces turned away will melt to the one alone that within itself holds his heart. One day, his greeting will be that sweet smile that he found only in the dawn. One day, a warm hand will take his own, and the word with which his beloved left him will be the same as that which retrieves him: 'Ἀχιλλέυς.’ Until the day when his heart pours out golden, Achilles will not sleep.
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Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
“but achilles kept on grieving...the memory burning on...dawn on dawn flaming over the sea and shore would find him pacing.” - the iliad, book xxiv
Achilles does not sleep. Instead, he seeks the lover’s embrace and curved lips alongside which he went to war; Those same that he did not find, Once the dark mist had come swirling down over his eyes And his soul went winging down to the House of Death, with a soldier’s sigh of relief. He had whispered in Charon’s ear, “Take me to him.” Charon had rowed on, but held his silence. By way of greeting, a thousand faces turned away, And no trace of his beloved’s sweet smile as he disembarked, no warm hand to take his own. “Patroklus,” he cries, And goes unheard. Thus; Achilles does not sleep. He is Achilles; he does not wait. He is Achilles; instead, he aches. He is Achilles; instead, he searches. Over the horizon, he chases Patroklus’ laugh and the turn of his wrist. He lingers in all the shadowed corners of eternity, Leafs through the pages of unforgiving, unyielding posterity, Whispers “Patroklus, best of the Myrmidons” and sends his name through the winds. The headstrong runner does not drag his feet as he scours the world, As he chases ghosts across the face of the earth. Restless, he is never still, Knows that each step must carry him closer, Knows that each ragged cry may be the one That is finally answered, Each rendition the wound to be finally salved. He haunts, and is haunted. ‘I did not feel it,’ he thinks. 'It should have been as though Hektor’s pierced my side, in turn. Did they not say we were one?’ As if what he felt, when they told him, had not been enough. (Scamander would disagree). One day, smiling among the cypress, he will cease. One day, the thousand faces turned away will melt to the one alone that within itself holds his heart. One day, his greeting will be that sweet smile that he found only in the dawn. One day, a warm hand will take his own, and the word with which his beloved left him will be the same as that which retrieves him: 'Ἀχιλλέυς.’ Until the day when his heart pours out golden, Achilles will not sleep.
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38
did you know your hair was golden in the sun? you were the boy king, gentle as the summer air you found me frail and useless, when i was nothing yet you, in all your glory, made me something. your name echoed through all the kingdoms of Greece, you threatened yet were admired by the greatest of warriors you roused lustful dreams in the most tender and innocent of nymphs you were the mighty sentinel of the common stranger yet you were mine to hold in the dark of night. i still think about the way your leg dangled as your lyre lulled on, your languid trails of kisses and starlit whispers still haunt me the same way your unavoidable fate crept upon you through your noble triumphs. i have listened to your speeches like homilies of the faithful i have memorized the creases on your face of fierceness i have kissed your war wounds and cried for your pain and i have read the greatest of legends in the lines of your body. i could have sworn your battle cries were as melodious as your lyre songs and so beautiful they were that i still hear you sing in the tides of the Aegean seas you were destined for fame and wondrous glory to be a story to be told for all time to have people cheer your name and fall on their knees for you loss was a feeling foreign to you, yet the only thing you lost yourself to, in your pride, was love who knew love could be such a terror? golden haired triumphant prince running swift and beautiful with the ocean breeze nobody could ever catch up: i had always thought you and i would live forever.
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Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
The Lament of the Son of Menoetius
did you know your hair was golden in the sun? you were the boy king, gentle as the summer air you found me frail and useless, when i was nothing yet you, in all your glory, made me something. your name echoed through all the kingdoms of Greece, you threatened yet were admired by the greatest of warriors you roused lustful dreams in the most tender and innocent of nymphs you were the mighty sentinel of the common stranger yet you were mine to hold in the dark of night. i still think about the way your leg dangled as your lyre lulled on, your languid trails of kisses and starlit whispers still haunt me the same way your unavoidable fate crept upon you through your noble triumphs. i have listened to your speeches like homilies of the faithful i have memorized the creases on your face of fierceness i have kissed your war wounds and cried for your pain and i have read the greatest of legends in the lines of your body. i could have sworn your battle cries were as melodious as your lyre songs and so beautiful they were that i still hear you sing in the tides of the Aegean seas you were destined for fame and wondrous glory to be a story to be told for all time to have people cheer your name and fall on their knees for you loss was a feeling foreign to you, yet the only thing you lost yourself to, in your pride, was love who knew love could be such a terror? golden haired triumphant prince running swift and beautiful with the ocean breeze nobody could ever catch up: i had always thought you and i would live forever.
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31
The clang of armour rings through the clamour of our men screaming thy name. Thy name that I bear, blazing bright as these brazen greaves. A-CHIL-LES. It is not I that they know. It is not my feet that are thus as swift as thine; though they would believe it. It is not my rough hands that are never wrong; but that have rather slain Sarpedon, now. It is not thy knees that quake at Hector's call; 'tis mine own. A-CHIL-LES. It is not thy eyes that water in fear, it is not thy hands that grasp thy spear, 'tis mine own. Never wrong. Never wrong. Never wrong. It is not thy gold-spun curls that spill forth, as thy helmet falls. It is not thy blood that stains Hector's spear; it is not thy chest that splinters, 'tis mine own. The clang of spear piercing armour rings through the clamour of our men screaming my name. My name that I bear, blazing bright as thy brazen greaves. PA-TRO-CLUS.
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Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
Aristos Achaion