Neoptolemus Pyrrhus

Hateful Enyalios, hound of war!

guide my spear, that it may fly

straight and true, pierce the shield,

tear flesh, and sunder.

Sacker of cities! before me wracks

Ilium, heaving in its death-throes,

an old woman ravaged by disease,

agonizing in her nuptial thalamos.

Curse of men! I see the Danaans

tremble at the doors of the palace

quivering shields up as naked blades

of grass in winter.They cower! I

am the scythe, the grim harvester!

I am Neoptolemus Pyrrhus, conqueror!

demons of fire, grasping claws of smoke crush

the rosey-fingered dawn as I consume my wrath!

Ripped are the doors from their hinges, like

the son from the arms of his wailing mother:

there is no escape! The palace halls echo

with the cries of widows. Purposefully I stride

towards the altar, unviolated sanctity.

Mad-eyed Polites stumbles into my path

spear drawn, ready to protect all he holds

most dear, I strike him! his life-blood

froths to the floor, he staggers back.

The altar is near now. I see Hecuba

clutching her daughters, fragile caryatids;

standing guard is Priam,pathetic

simulacrum, a shade of whom he

once was, donning his youthful armor.

Polites crawls towards his father, arm

outstretched. He falls in front of the altar,

in a pool of blood. Priam stares at me.

his face is arrogant, but his body is weak.

he speaks, but I do not hear him.

He throws his spear, uselessly. It clangs

against my shield and falls to the floor.

weak!

weak!

weak!

I drag Priam to the altar, knees trailing

in his son's own blood,his daughters scream,

attempt to drag me away, but they are like

twigs that would dam an impetuous river.

My sword cuts into Priam's neck, inexorable.

blood erupts from the wound, staining

the marble altar room crimson.

I am Neoptolemus Pyrrhus, conqueror!

demons of fire, grasping claws of smoke crush

the rosey-fingered dawn as I consume my wrath!