Sparkatale

Sieges

A battle rages on beneath the wall,

On either side a wounded captain leads

An empty legion on to fight

An enemy imagined, or remembered - who knows?

The ground still glistens in the springtime sunlight,

Bejewelled with the wrecks of broken swords

That fell, it seems, from some past storm,

A hurricane no-one remembers anymore.

The cannon-balls grow heavier,

Each shot costs so much more

As weaker arms now struggle to maintain

Their obstinate dignity.

The captains turn to poets,

As epics now take shape,

So different, ancient memories

Transformed through fresher pain.

Reciting, then, to ears they cannot see,

Begin the tales that reach beyond the distance,

Straining to hear themselves

Beneath the din of their internal screaming.

Those tales lie preserved in marble tombs,

Their grandeur ever masking inner darkness,

And as it ever was, so it remains:

The heroes sing of villainy, the villains of salvation.

8/3/19