There is a story of a gift,
A Titan of a horse,
The Greeks presented it on wheels -
an olive branch, of course.
The Trojans were so very pleased
And opened city gates,
In rolled the massive equine thing
Now Troy could celebrate!
But all was not just as it seemed
And, as the Trojans slept,
The horse’s belly opened wide
And out Greek soldiers leapt!
All the Trojans met their doom,
Their city razed to ash
The gift they’d thought a lovely horse
Was really meant to smash!
Our modern Troys are still besieged
By tricks and clever ploys,
As Trojan Horses sidle in,
Our systems to destroy.
*
The truth is not always beautiful
or beautiful words from sugared lips, the truth.
The Trojan Horse delivered to the door, comes in disguise.
Sturdy in design of wood, but empty as a trickster
who plies her trade amongst unwary
and the inevitable susceptible naïveté akin to the Greeks’ quaint
love for the common old garden grasshopper of all colours —
a Greek tragedy in the making, rivalling that of Sophocles.
My truths are more complicated than the above:
an exposé wrapped in the variable
old clichés of devotion and eternal love of the other.
Keeping the secrets of others is a burden to be
suffered in silence until a beautiful
death do us part – then rendezvous in eternity.
Egos
not armies
destroy the Crown
Arrogance
reletting
the blood
The Emperor
naked
upon its back
Odysseus
in
— from the wood
(Dreamsleep: March, 2024)
PythonPotamus, "Abaddon" Quetzacoatliciously rises from the pit.
Helliopolis' ruins remains; "in the thick of it."
Ra, "Familiars the breeze" a God-imposter, sedicious, piece of Set.
Set Ing the diodes of scene.
All the same, on demand-
quid pro troll for human sacrificing...
icing in their assumed, -
exhumed names of representation-glands,
Idols in strange hands.
Decorating blue,
filling with strangers to one's own land.
Paradise Lost, seeking ills, -ills, ill gotten gains.
Kismetic Frosts relations
of cover-incestuous-religions
summoned in symbiotic trends,
of the means of the end.
On Alien soil, Ra, soon to return
to asphyxiate freedom's change, of wind,
whisping death's-bloom.
DeCoffinated break, drink !
Skywriters, Contracting...
Watching in aiding abetting, the elites.
The discreeted
scuttled upon the otherworldly-
Chariots called PleasureCrafts and Triremes and Juggernautivity Nets.
Lasers to strain in loom, everything you say or do-
you... buy, sell, eat, drink, breathe, think?
Utopia, Trojan Whores Riding a Beast.
Was a fine brunette, her name was Helen
She wanted round boobs, size of a melon
Schoolfriend Paris agreed
Milking Troy, for the deed
She got them hand reared, not by a felon
Gray grow the daffodils in Depression’s field
where thorn bushes thrive
and the sun shines indifferently,
obscured by sadness’ haze.
Sex offers no allure in Depression’s bed
where desire lies as dead as laughter,
and love finds no purchase
where there is only room for pain.
Yet the senses thrive in this wasteland of the soul,
heightened and open to Art’s inspiration.
Is this my compensation
for the darkness that it brings?
July 28, 2015
Winter comes to steal all the color There is a plan yet to discover As The cold begins to raid the night The sun withdraws its warming light The fruit more colorful, so also the turning leaves As the frost attacks these, Color hides in root and seed Winter seems to have the upper hand As leaves and fruit take a last stand They fall to the ground withered and brown The treasure of color buried in the cold ground As winter celebrates the death of life, It is a small sacrifice For the army of color is now hidden and ready to fight
Learnt by the pang of fear
Oh Trojan horse thou art fair
So fearful and hard to near
Your presence!A dread even to air
Leading to an ancient unknown fence
Creating anguish in the ambience
Like a mad dog thou locate
Your way to doom or heaven's gate
Vigour in you aint got an end
For strong art thou till the end
Of world and world beyond thy tend
Black and white, in a line
Some are heavy, some are fine
Changing, creeping, cunning
Smoothly, quickly, running
Some are found, some are not
Isn't safe- destroy the lot
Poem written about a manual DOS scan to find Trojan virus ;)
My brain is literally just full of poetry. I mean who the hell writes a poem about a Trojan while their computer is scanning?? Me.
shards of steel
splashed from
our swords and
ripple across the heavens
as we fight this Trojan War
I'm starting to even wonder why I'm actually there
Am I there for a certain purpose I'm caught so unaware
I'm feeling like the Trojan Horse, a passage to somewhere else
Once there I'm cast aside, ageing and left on the shelf
I'm starting to even wonder now that I'm actually here
When do you say your goodbyes, and fill my eyes with tears
What will you do when you look back, laughing in my face
Me just a Trojan Horse, as I welcomed you with grace
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-15.php
Once is gust a knell,
Shuddered a colt
Shattered his mane athwart
His wafting soul a shaft of fear
Like a sprout!
Staggering in frisson
A gladiator, reined him in prison
His body, an etched pigeon
Under the lashing ribbon
Long time went on and on
As trained and brisk as Trojan
Until in one grim morn
He was left alone, forlorn.
Then, a shadow of hippogriff
Scratched his hoof so stiff,
Captured him by defeat.
Hey… my coy horse, an orphan,
Still flutter in this repellent
Lagoon, while Poseidon
Is himself drowned.