Of visceral and chronic pain endured
through years of heavy siege, unending war,
sing to me muse, for left unentertained
I’d start to slip into dull mania.
Diseased and decaying soldiers on shore
with battle wounds infected, left for dead
without a grave, they sink into the sand
while their commanders bicker over blame:
‘What jealous and vindictive gods have brought
This scene of gruesome suffering to bear?
Or should we charge authorities who wage
An everlasting war for selfish cares?’
Yet healthy soldiers ready up their arms,
With hope for a decisive victory
So that they may return to their homeland.
They hammer out the dents in shields of bronze
and polish armor, sharpen spears and swords
to slash their foes and leave entrails exposed.
At night they dine on meat and fish, and drink
From mixing bowls of honeyed mellow wine.
They feast as if this night could be their last,
And then make love to captive concubines,
and sleep well satisfied in sea-side tents,
so the attackers spend their idle time.
However, inside city walls the worn
Defenders try to live on meager bread
And grain reserves, with supply lines cut off
From all their fertile fields and farms, and now
their seaport makes a harbor for their foe.
While huddled in fortifications stripped
Of all accoutrements and luxuries,
They still continue to protect their homes
And families from the unceasing siege.
Consulting oracles did not give hope,
And offerings of peace were not received,
So they made sacrifices to the gods,
Resolved to fight until the bitter end.
The anxious dawn arrives, they scan the sky
For augur and entreat the gods for aid,
But birds remain in roost, too scared to fly,
and heaven’s silence lasts for half an hour.
They talk amongst themselves to fill the void,
Like frogs and crickets in the still of night,
Until one sentry calls to heed, “hush, hear:”
ba-DUM ba-DUM the battle drum draws near…
- - -
through years of heavy siege, unending war,
sing to me muse, for left unentertained
I’d start to slip into dull mania.
Diseased and decaying soldiers on shore
with battle wounds infected, left for dead
without a grave, they sink into the sand
while their commanders bicker over blame:
‘What jealous and vindictive gods have brought
This scene of gruesome suffering to bear?
Or should we charge authorities who wage
An everlasting war for selfish cares?’
Yet healthy soldiers ready up their arms,
With hope for a decisive victory
So that they may return to their homeland.
They hammer out the dents in shields of bronze
and polish armor, sharpen spears and swords
to slash their foes and leave entrails exposed.
At night they dine on meat and fish, and drink
From mixing bowls of honeyed mellow wine.
They feast as if this night could be their last,
And then make love to captive concubines,
and sleep well satisfied in sea-side tents,
so the attackers spend their idle time.
However, inside city walls the worn
Defenders try to live on meager bread
And grain reserves, with supply lines cut off
From all their fertile fields and farms, and now
their seaport makes a harbor for their foe.
While huddled in fortifications stripped
Of all accoutrements and luxuries,
They still continue to protect their homes
And families from the unceasing siege.
Consulting oracles did not give hope,
And offerings of peace were not received,
So they made sacrifices to the gods,
Resolved to fight until the bitter end.
The anxious dawn arrives, they scan the sky
For augur and entreat the gods for aid,
But birds remain in roost, too scared to fly,
and heaven’s silence lasts for half an hour.
They talk amongst themselves to fill the void,
Like frogs and crickets in the still of night,
Until one sentry calls to heed, “hush, hear:”
ba-DUM ba-DUM the battle drum draws near…
- - -