(The best I've heard, the best I'll manage to hear)
Once more was the occasion when he dreamt of
the land of Hector, the men who tamed the horses, the best of those;
the best of any. This was his land now. No more could he
belong to any other realm. The kings were his benefactor,
and he was their preferred subject.
His chest replete with pride and his mind with wisdom,
that man set sail to defend his country, salvage the spotlight
which illuminated thousands of his brothers who stood by him in thick
and thin. He perpetually honoured the Gods, loved his woman
and stood apothegmatic on the reason and consequence of divinity.
Perhaps, his beauty lay in the fact that he too, was doomed.
Kept still on a frozen white night
The dew wet his lips
And at that wonderous moment
It felt to him
as nothing short of a spark of light
The gift of game
that ressurected the man in him
A fearful man
with a heart turned to stone
Long long ago
The dew only fetched his senses aback
The tale never goes on
To dictate a change of heart
Or prophesize a restoration of peace
For he was a soldier
Much too used to wars
So much so
That peace confused him
and made him question his own reasoning
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