Bellum Irae Sanguinisque: Mors Patrocli Poem by Lorenzo Lynn

The Achaeans were enraged as were the Trojans
each by the other individuals and the whole.
In the midst of the Discord was Erin, quae omnes egit
she unofficially began it who had the principal role.

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.
And 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 Priamselected; his Judgment active catalyst:
Hera, from you I want power, so much
none can nor will resist my will;
and 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.
and 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, agleaming
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 tumbled 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 he bore
protective as the armor of Achilles worn.

This child caught between his pride and fear
born 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 perfectlyas 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 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 Adrastus
as 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 anad 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;
without 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 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 awaiting
Trojan 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 eruptng 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.