The Achaeans were enraged
as were the Trojans
each by the other
individuals and the whole.
In the midst of the Discord was Erin;
she unofficially began it
who had the principal role
quae omnes egit,
And it was her silent rage
for being scorned
as Peleus his Thetis wed
left goddess spurned
and malum for malum
shed the apple she threw
amidst three contenders
for what seed of evil had said:
for the fairest of three,
Hera, Athene, or Aphrodite.
Then Erin watched
wry smile on her face
beginning era of war
with gods at their hand
abetting a wavering
of rage in a race.
Fiery Athena burst in,
her head armored helmet;
heavenly Hera heaved
herself as lightning quick;
and mighty Aphrodite
dove in as never done before
to claim to be the fairest of them all
and Erin watched, her anger quelled,
and Zeus sat by enthralled
though bored and wanting more.
He could not judge (or would not dare)
to pick his wife and sister, nor instead
his virgin daughter bursting from his head,
nor Aphrodite whose love and care
could shift to hate as needed
if her way ignored, advice unheeded,
smiting her outside the bonds of marriage bed.
Comely Paris, Prince of Troy,
Son of Priam selected;
his Judgment active catalyst:
Hera,
from you I want power, so much
none can nor will resist my will;
from you,
dear Aphrodite,
none but the most beautiful in the world
will do for me;
ahh, Athena,
from you just wealth;
I have already strength and health.
Thus, so it was the apple went
to Aphrodite of them all,
for fairest Helen,
Spartan Queen,
beginning war of wars unseen.
The Duality of Patroclus
Helen willing,
Paris took her self to Troy
and married she her darling boy
with Greeks not bearing gifts in hot pursuit,
his wife, new Trojan bride,
Menelaus, Agememnon on one side,
royal brothers with the Greeks
with Ajax and Achilles versus Troy
Andromache and Hector, and their boy,
Astyanax, thrown from the wall as recompense
for death, destruction by Achilles’ progeny
a prelude for the homicide of Hector, hence.
Beside his friend,
as Erastes for Euromenos,
full armored,
stood Patroclus
dressed with shining plume
standing proud,
a gleaming brilliant glow throughout the room,
Achilles’ armor all befitting him
its gleam, its shine more brilliant
than the glint of tears
that welled deep pools of fear
that lay in wait to tumble earthward
as surely as in mind the Trojans fell.
He shook and trembled,
quaking,
clanging armor quivering
knocking knees against his armament
while floods poured torrents
down child’s cheeks astreaming
his whimpering unheard
by all despite his tender years.
Still donning shield and armor
of Achillean fame,
Patroclus poured himself
as cataract of lofty falls
relentless, poured himself
on Trojan forces,
a plague himself
of locusts drowning Trojans in their blood
Greek Tsunami ‘gainst the Trojan walls
each side their bodies
all fall colossal thud
the spear and sword
and shield well borne
protective as the armor
of Achilles worn.
This child caught
between his pride and fear
borne staunchly as if not himself
took on another id;
an ego of some other self appears
the brass and pelted shield,
luminous,brass-tipped,
balanced, lengthy spears
hurled far and true through armor, too.
Patroclus, youthful warrior,
tornadoed through the files, ranks
of cavalry, walled archers,
lancers,close-armored combatants
with swords
relentless passion
fused with pure impunity
thrusting spear through thigh
of Thrasymedes
point penetrating first the flesh
as dagger through soft pouch of lard
thence stopping not at rigid bone
not splintering but splitting hard
as clean as glass both mirrored portions
sliced both severed parts as perfectly
as lightning through a dove’s soft breast
plucking out both halves
slammed back again
blood spurting rhythmic spouting until in shock
the heart abruptly crunches to a stop.
Sarpedon fought brilliantly
till spear in hand
of deft Patroclus
splashed through his abdomen
cut loose the diaphragm below the heart
left opened an anarchic flow ceaseless stream
of crimson severed spine
dead heap flopped senseless
to the saturated ground.
With likened furor fell Adrastusas;
Patroclus pounced with eagle talons
clawing spear and sword
the left arm grasping tautly shield
and followed Auctonous, Perinus,
and Echeclus defiled;
with wild, vicious slashes to and fro,
maniacally sword and wielded shield,
Patroclus’ passion unabated
intensified as Epistor was dispatched,
Melanippus maimed,
Elasus and Mulius mutilated beyond repair
and breathless Patroclus swaying to and fro
as Pylartes fell pleading, bleeding,
helpless punctured mass
before his tapping feet
who pressed himself knee deep
steeped in bodies, parts, protruding bones
fractured, shattered, slammed by shield
and spear and sword by Patroclus
in the name of the Achilles
he appeared to be.
Apollo warned: Stay back,
restrain your anxious hand;
withhold your fatal strokes
lest they become to you.
Blind rage pushed onward
new refreshed the wrath
Patroclus felt anew enflamed
his mighty high, tinnitus ringing
both ears too deaf to goddess pleas
Apollo begging, to humane pleading,
nothing staying, swaying,
wild orbs of eyes receding
unblinking lest they miss one drop
of blood his victims shed non-stop
before his sightless tearful
unseeing insatiate eyes
that just before his father’s frame
he wept, a little girl, soft, fearful
not to live by his, not father’s, name.
Then dropped he weakened shielded arm
the left, right holding still another shaft
with pointed blazing bronze
awaitingTrojan blood in which to bathe its hungry point,
and turned he suddenly
as if some god
dictated deft defensive move too late;
for wearied in a moment’s respite,
down came ired Patroclus
again abated rage to grief
for slain friend Glaucus
felled by Trojan lance
impaling him through thorax bare
where shield below above the chest
where metal met with beastly hide
there pierced the point of spear inside
the tapered point as wolf through flock
of sleeping lambs
left lava flow erupting forth
then jagged edges ripped the wound
from which fell Glaucus,
downward swooned,
crumpled heap,
no future, doomed,
eyes rolled back in his heedless head,
another Greek, Achaean, dead.
Softened, sadly sorry, weak,
Patroclus wept again,
the child,
no longer vicious,
no longer wild,
feebly bending coseismic knees
let up his cautious guard, exposed
the spear from bloody Trojan hand
let loose the shaft abounding speed
that rammed Patroclus’ bleeding heart
and rendered him from life apart
sucked out his every moment’s breath
and dropped him into instant death.
Requiescas in pace, Patrocle carus
excessus vita
per bellum sanguinemque.
