Achilles Poem by Roy Ballard
Achilles
This triumph that I take,
my foot upon your chest, your sucking wound,
your torn and bleeding limbs, is a momentary thing.
There is a voice
intoning down the years,
that turns the sharpest edge
of fiercest joy.
It has come, I hear it
in the first flush of victory.
The shining cup
of conquest dulls, the dazzle dints.
Unwanted, unpredictable renown
show me some pit that I can throw you in.
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5/3/2024 7:10:32 AM # 1.0.0.1119
