Friday, October 01, 2010

Centurions, Oh

Tribesmen of my Century

The branches of the logic trees
Bow dangerously with the pregnant
Weight of chattering monkeys
Hurling rotten fruit
And other substances
Fragrant but base

Cohorts of mine enemies
The fortifying walls of the ramparts
Are as thin as the recycled paper
Used to scratch out dispatches
Commanding the weary
To acts unspeakable
Bloody and crass

Elected, appointed or promoted
From the rank and file
They and their one hundred
Despite any inherent skill
Or courage unsullied
Suffer the worst casualties
In these wars

Oh, Centurions

Let it go
Let it go
There is nothing to see here

Let us go
Let us go
If we want to hang out here
We will have to move on

Into the valley of death
Ride the Centurions

Echoes: Collage and Poetry by Jay Larsen
I don't know if I am modled after Spurius Ligustinus
or Sempronius Densus

No comments: