Ecbatana

You know, just some historically accurate poerty(:

Our bodies

Are rivers of ancient blood,

Old as gray souls,

And weighted deep and low

Like the ballast holds of a ship,

 

Do we sail onward,

Is there a convoluted delta of horrific fruits

Where we empty our veins,

The place in which we run dry as oxen’s bones?

 

Or is there a stormy night,

The waves rising up to embrace us,

As though we are the reason

Of its indigo tinted swells?

 

Is there a plague upon our sacred banks,

Have our pious friends gone ill?

Are we still in our splendor,

Or has our blood become ash?

 

Is it the red of tears

Or the grains of rice?

What flows in our iron hearts-

 

Is it shattered,

Dying,

Forgotten,

Like the sand beneath Persian soles?

 

If I said I was Hephaestion,

Would you bear me still?

If those antediluvian strains of scarlet

Are the core of your being,

Would you condemn our touch?

 

Because as the forgotten is Alexander,

I am your blood, your veins, I am Hephaestion,

I am open to you,

And you need me more…

 

I shall die first. 

Author's Note

Thank you!

Reviews

[The Winter Grey]

Terrific. It practically pulses with an old-world darkness. Your imagery and wording is excellent and your diction is phenomenal. Very, very well done.

[Cyrano]

This is awesome. great use of allusions and a beautiful use of words as always. Because as the forgotten is Alexander,

"I am your blood, your veins, I am Hephaestion,

I am open to you,

And you need me more…



I shall die first. "

Great way to end