Every war is Troy
Every soldier Achilles
Sliding on bloody entrails
Into the clutching arms
Of Fate.

Those old graves stir
Again and again and again
Funeral orations die on the tongue
And turn instead
To ragged cries
Hungry birds circle,
Worms rejoice
In fields clotted
With corpses
Dotted with diamonds
Of steel.

Every man is Achilles.
When the moment comes in battle
He finds whether it is Hektor
Or Paris
With whom he fights.
And his shield the bloody cost of war

Whispering drone of gasping voices
Hungry for us to fill the trench
The witch marked out
Told us what to do
To call the dead
Better than any rifle shot
Better than any armistice.
And still the buried bodies lie.

Every battlefield
Every war
Is Troy.

It echoes in the bones of the soul
Knit into the screams
Of men who think
They can go home

A spear in the head
A bullet in the gut

Every war is Troy.


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Posted on March 11, 2017, in Poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Comments Off on Troy.

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