Read Poems by Justin Bordner

Justin Bordner Avatar Justin Bordner - LIFETIME Premium Member Justin Bordner - Premium MemberPremium Member Send Soup Mail Go to Poets Blog Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below are poems written by poet Justin Bordner. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.

List of ALL Justin Bordner poems

Best Justin Bordner Poems

+ Follow Poet

The poem(s) are below...


Jeruselum, The Jugular -2

It was not uncommon to discover a missing Brother Legionary
castrated, and decapitated
with a headless eagle carved upon his chest,
don't speak to me of morals and mercy
for I have seen and dealt the damage of rude death,
hate becomes your Father, vengeance your Mother
aggravated murder your cause
when everything you revere and fear merge
to make a leviathen of life,
the "Chosen People" of God
became the chosen target of annihilation, 
Mount Moriah, mansion of Yaweh the Pariah
would become capital of Divine crucifixion, 

February, year 70,
after sustaining 5,600 casualties
Rome's legions were leering on Jeruselum, 
I swear the Temple Mount moaned in doom
as we assembled the seige weapons religiously, 
Solomon's Temple sweating dust in our presence, 
Vulcan's vault opening with ruthless explosion, 
no more tactics of fire traps and slicing surprise, 
enemies breath now counted with limited life,
catapaults cranked, ballista scorpions loaded and torqued 
like cobras of chaos,
oh how we heaved and hurled at those walls of brittle bastion
bricks popping like sticks,
heaving corpses, balls of tar fire, stones of moon size walloping, 
the crumble and cries of Cannanites
cauterized our wounds and chastened our courage, 
as the camp fires fell prostrate to the face of the rolling Sun
I addressed the men of the Fifteenth Legion saying,
Brothers come near
bring your ears to the voice of my heart with no fear,
a man who is prepared to die is a man prepared to live,
the south wall is torn, today we charge that gash
ready to thrash those bastards and avenge everything we believe in,
to put worth in the light of our slain Brothers,
we wete born in different provinces
raised in different homes and temples
but everyone here has earned his boots, belt and bacon, 
we are all Brothers in Rome, free men
and the most skilled warriors on the planet,
we kill those who attempt, not to kill us as individuals
but who attempt to kill our future, and past of our Nation,
if you must die today, make sure your gladius finds flesh
and be certain to follow the Lions home,
now let's put our blood to blade
and swear loyalty with silence
eyes fixed on eyes...hearts drummed to hearts...

The battle trumpets burst with the sprite of brass of bravery
Centurions blowing the whistles of war
like eagles gone insane,
as I sprinted into the early carnage
existence became a series of thuds grunts and motions
the sound of metal chiming became my foresight, 
discipline a matter of square feet,
I saw the Standard Bearer's wolf pelt ablaze
and having an arrow through his waist,
using the boss bolt of my sheild I launched a rebel onto his back
while thrusting my sword up through the nape of another fighter
who was hackng my Brother Marius
my weapon jammed in his skull,
then I got smacked on the cheek with a pommel
and a savage cut the tip of my chin off,
as I fell I broke that dog's knee with the rim of my sheild,
that's sheild lightning for ya,
smashing his throat with forearm, I used my dagger
to stab him through his gapping mouth,

I carried on type o butcher with precision and pride for 5 hours
saving the lives of a Centurion and 6 other Brothers,
and rescued the Standard of Legio V Macedonia from being burned, 
I actually sealed my chin with the hot metal of the Standard,
for these acts of valor
I was awarded the Corona Civica, and a lifetime of night terrors,
sometimes I think I died in the ruins of Jeruselum, 
sometimes I feel I'm still there
fighting for the taste of honor or for the smell of blood,
many of the captured Jews were used as slave labor
to construct the Colliseum,
we made a death sport arena of Jeruselum
but there were no spectators cheering,
no audience to applaud the agony
of two two cultures in a death match,
maybe we were all meant to be gladiators,
fighting to make noble graves and pyres -


I composed this poem in 2014...Justin A. Bordner

Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2017


Post Comments

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Be the first to comment.