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Theodore Bird Feb 2015
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.
mariadt Nov 2018
The exploration of womanhood,
viewed by a child, who had failed to birth an heir
and was auctioned amidst a war,
to lay beside the man who Lyrnessus heard before it saw,
and felt, before they felt nothing at all.

Plucked from childhood to motherhood,
failed motherhood, into obedience and slavery,
despised by her husband's mother for the absence of life she yearned to grow.
Then veiled in a soft pearlescent,
that blurred, but did not hide, the reason she survived,
and her brothers and husband did not.

Her barren belly proved a blessing when the girls in tents sprouted kleos from their swollen stomachs,
to carry the son of foreigners, bloodthirsty for their native home.
These girls, they are just girls, brainwashed by glory and trauma,
carry children that will slaughter their brothers of blood,
in the name of a woman seen only as a measurement of egotistic revenge.

And what of Briseis?
Aristos Achaion, they cried.
To them, he will always be: the best of the Greeks,
even after Apollo favours the hand of Paris and forges fate to impale the accidental hamartia.
What is her legacy?

Aristos Achaion, they cry.
As the boy who carries his blood rises from the fire and carries forward after his father's body hit the ground.
In response to Homer's Iliad, inspired by Pat Barker's Silence of the Girls
Yenson Feb 2019
Our Car-boot sales Militaunts
those crap Socially maladjusted leftist soap-boxers
decided in delirious hysteria they've found a sacrificial lamb
To the altar for slaughter sing our merry band of loonies

Hail  Tolpuddle, Tonypandy, even hail the Suffragettes
(those from Bow, which to be honest weren't a lot)
Are you listening Lenin, Tolstoy, marx and Stalin our fathers
And all you thieves, burglars, reprobates, wasters and psychos
our Revolution takes no prisoners, this lamb is for you all

To the New world of People's' Power we give you a black sheep
Leave the Tories, Bankers, the Sloanes, Fat cats and the Aristos
(they're much too strong, well placed and powerful for us)
This lamb here is just right, nothing like a roasted fat black sheep
we take control and own his life, his blood will run like our flag

We'll control his perceptions and own his mind, ain't so comrades
find his weaknesses and vulnerabilities and bob's our uncle
we'll smear, tarnish, persecute, alienate, humiliate, taunt and harass
we'll isolate, victimize, shred and rain miseries and grief on our lamb
maddened and alone, helpless in our in our psychotic grip, he dies
this is war and all is fair in war, we are narcissistic and don't care

We search for guilt, sin, fear and vulnerabilities, all in absence
So trawl out the fake news and made it all up as we go along
create a love interest, bait him and manipulate his emotions
get a Mata Hari an the man and shred his mind with mistrust  
betrayal, pain, humiliation, emotional abuse, all those passions
Drain his confidence, his self-worth, his beliefs and values
Strip him of all he holds sacred and dear, bring me his head

Comrades, what is going on, why is this taking so long
This is suppose to be a psyche assault, a ruinous psychological war
We are the majority, with the numbers and we are psychotic bullies
we are loonies, narcissists with no souls, hearts or remorse
What do you mean a 'sterling, centred, upstanding noble and brave character'
You're supposed to rain untold terrors on his mind, shred him to pieces, he should be a broken nervous wreck, we want his blood

I have never deliberately injured or harm a fellow human
I have never coverted  or stolen anything from my neighbor
I am not perfect, but I am what I am and for that I make no apologies
I know that only the TRUTH offers real FREEDOM
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the LORD, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust."

Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence.

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day,

nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.

A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.

You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked.

— The End —