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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required VIII In the minds fixed eye I see five newly discovered graves, Headless lions sat atop an impregnable "Triumphal Gate"; And guileful Cassandra, she laid her two murdered infant babes Into that cold, unforgiving earth, who patiently awaits In Elysium for the making, as of yet, of an Unfulfilled prophecy. Did she not urgently press upon him not to go To violent Sparta? Her who had seen the consequences for An un-readied Troy... But, perhaps that which is foretold does not always have to be? Licentious Apollo, frustrated when attempting To barter For her innocence...although, what finer sport should a God enjoy? Beautifully crafted daggers with fabulous inlaid stones. Decorated swords the likes which Hector gave to the lesser. Extraordinary figurines all found surrounded old broken bones... A forgotten, heroic world swept away to be lost forever. Three bronze-clad warriors slow turned to Naught but dust; Apart one face, behind a golden mask, that, Somehow, defied decay -- Behold! behind this frightful mask -- The face of Agamemnon!! Murdered by a vengeful woman for a selfsame Base lust; Solemn vows and pledges of chastity betrayed When led astray. An ill-timed death this: he whom all Mycenae Came to depend on. It is as though my dulled heart is filled with a leaden Balloon; and weighted upon my weary shoulders the total sins Of my warlike race. Ahhh...draining the shallow Kylix deadens The senses...but despairs court such dangerous whims. How I yearn for ancient Arcadia, those Folded hills Where the Mousai whispered secrets into the Swooning breeze; Often I would wander through all of this Pastoral splendour, Accompanied by soothing chimes from lulling, Silvery rills, For here I had rediscovered lost Utopia in Ever increasing degrees:- Treasured moments of glad grace I hold Dearest and most tender; If I am but to close my heavy and despondent lids, again I might hear gurgling splashes tripping over green bedrock:- Harmonious tinkling spawning enchanting, hypnotic constrains -- Enabled by stepped stone speeding beads of bubbling froth. Now I only know my own trickling rivulets of Bitter, salted tears; They fall, like heavy droplets, into that deep, Resounding well Of awful hollowness; and often being forced, Against my will, to ponder On all what has passed before. That perfect Face that reappears, Uninvited, when least expected. Other images Which so compel Unto a soul to yearn for all that was... And is no longer. I envision strange and wonderfully bright lights alongside The Aegean's vibrant shores; inland, a walled citadel Sat high above a wide plain...come the sunset, beautified When stretched out by lengthening shadows; the acrid smell From sulphurous torches. With fondness, Recalling Chiffchaffs Piping their song from fluffed up Willows. In Olive groves We sought welcomed respite from fierce Helios; A kings jealousy Compelled upon him to illuminate a Goddess's All too familiar distaff. Those narrow, pebble-strewn, thickly dusted, Near-impassable roads Lying there undisturbed still....where Winding down to the glittering sea.
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