Member-only story
και του Πολέμου
Beyond the ancient polis walls
a simple tunic but a lord’s decree
Adored by the Magus
Hailed in Heaven
In broken Parsa
Reaches toward a flaming star
Unleashing the curséd dream.
Essence of rose sweet fragrance be
A black angel, wings of feathers poised
sooted eyes
scribe-weary griphos contort
the battle drums of war.
Not worthy of incense shed
nor of gold, silver or of led
but shoots to heaven like a fireball
with the battle cry of eudaimonia
Yet versed in diplomatic be
not in cuneiform or coronas seen
but catches a falling star.
Pitched strutting smudges-twêet
Tethered by phronisis
blasphemes at Zeus’s shaken altar
the pillars of Hercules falls.
With powdered lashes now poised east
Enticed by the pride its pelagic fleet
Is crushed by the angel’s wing.
Not false gnosis make
but the trial by which the trail takes
