Telemachus

A Poem

Woe be to a youthful heir,
Where great dreams part to despair.
Born too late to see a world of wonder,
Just dust where gilded Troy was plundered.
A heart eager for life! Eager for more
Yet damned that a meager life is filled. For
Great were these once unknown lands,
Which now neatly sit upon my hand.
Elder kings, their dream of awe to admire,
For me? This weight of ash? What ire…


As before, I am to rule, to learn,
Bearer of a past forgotten for concern.
A people, strange and stern;
A court, knives at every turn.
Yet even more now the memory fades,
And even more dreams are made shades.
Gleaming lead easily gilded
Lies and promises by their hands wielded.
Ardent fathers who toiled for what they’ve wrought,
Just to bear such drunken spawn that cheer on what they’ve bought.
Laughter and curses their mouths spill
With deeds to rot one's goodwill.
Which heart thus does not break?
With rage does not quake?!
To try and be upright for so many years,
Yet everyday see your mother's tears…



This is my father, my own Ulysses
Whom gave both scepter and isle.
Far travelling you were, and of great merit.
Bore a youthful heart and bold spirit
To travel the world with great wonder and at war, despoiler, unmatched ferocity!
Yet neither king nor serf does time forgive 
Bearing much woe in self; to live
Undeserving of companions, is to have such a friend taken away.
And yearning for blood and land everyday.



Dressed in rags; in one’s own home made foreign.
Scoffed as a beggar and pulled by reigns, 
And to have all hardearned spoiled by the undeserving
Soft hands that think the gods are at their serving!
Defilers! Upon your riches they make sport!
Pity be that but at hound is the only noble at court...
Tears given to a country... a dream once bright,
But come now father, there is still time to make such wrong right…


Rise! Lift your heart and stir that wit which was once so guile!
least I bear the shame to see triumph a deed so vile!
For we’re of noble blood, and spirits true
And there be no hell which we cannot pull through,
Of immortal renown sings the muse
Which deafens ears for those lived by excuse,
So cast your sorrow and let rage unbound
And let us make that hearth their burial mound!
So did the cleared-eyed Pallas see
That men of oath we must be:
For we are what we must, and what we must we shall!
Minds bend ready to see vultures fall,
Hearts blazing! blessed by toil and fire,
Unwavering and eager for a deed so dire!
Our souls set aflame by rage and scorn,
And on Éris our vengeance sworn!
Thus let the sheeps be idle upon the Shepard’s hall
As we wait among the reeds for the Thunderer's call.