He came at me oblique,
free arm at the right,
Hoplon in hand, I braced for impact,
despite my commanding beadledom,
the phallanx would break.
Yielding to him was easy.
The outermost right is the weakspot.
Any hoplite would
curve in to save his comrades.
Bronzed men, sweat baked leather,
clattering in at the joints.
Your defence will bend, it will break, if you let it
be it persians or any other race of men.
Let him route your defence,
where your shield doesnt reach.
And you yield.
But do not mourn the sweet loss.
Retrieve your dead as they build,
a trophy of your shattered resolve.
Ares and Eros are in agreement.
Surrender can be beautiful.
Look at the broken creatures littering the ground,
arched backs,
spears finding their home,
screams and moans of defeat.
And remember, there is glory in the fight
be it a phallanx, or the field of love
which is more deadly, not even Athena could say.
YOU ARE READING
Odes to the Erotes
PoesíaA series of Love poems focusing on understanding and exploring the many different kinds of love. Focusing first on the seven love gods, the Erotes, then on forms of love in the greek language, and finally in famous romances of the greek gods. This...
