All That Was Sparta

Our lusty voice was in the tramp of narrow, winding, Scree-littered, deep-rutted roads; Ravens, uttering guttural croaks, slow-wheeling above Vast, resonating, steeply plunging gorges; Ever watchful: ragged wings as spread fingers splayed; Stretched out below: the flat, purple skies. Men, when heartened by that which might be cherished unto Cold marble stone, Following the bearers sacred light; those brightly Lit torches And blazing campfires preserved by a flame Spartans Believed could not ever die... But, tragically, in this, for fierce Sparta...we Were wrong. Now all that remains of Sparta's defiant spirit is in Half-forgotten song... I hear them in troubling dreams; a sadness manifest in My every slowed exhalation of the inexplicable, involuntary sigh! Obscured shrouds of clammy scarlet in the greyed-misting's; Dampening's in dew-soaked morns. Hitched-up unfurling Reinforcing, what was already, the grim personification, That dreadful assuredness, of certain death. Those hammering alloys: when they moved -- the very Mountainside shook! Resolute camaraderie amidst awakening comrades; rising in Oceanus, radiant Helios prepares to drive; the curling Of morning's chill vapours upon the shortened, steaming, Laboring breath. I, for one, have always passionately loved the rising Dawn....the old sl*t took Yet another prince for her pleasure no doubt. In each New dawning Each man, in that fenced-off section of his undisclosed Mind, ashamedly forming Anxious thoughts; hands attentive to boastful wounds Where keen metal had struck! Yes, insatiable Eos, undeniably, has a beauty that alone Is only hers; She, rose-tinged Goddess, whose drab chariot paces Gently over A far-slung, shrunken horizon, is, be it only just at this Moment...quite beautiful. How I did'st always welcome an ushering-in of another Newly made day; and birds, Re-empowered at morning call, flagrantly answering from Tree to tree; swooping plovers, Mewing over thin marsh grasses, plunging and swerving Until, Or so it seemed -- they should outrun the swift wind Itself! But we who were set To destruction did put away all such idle thoughts. We, they who had kept Faith with Spartan ideals, then roused us up, mixed Wine with flour; drank libations for the fickle Gods goodwill. The months rolled up as one; the blurring of Springtime Sneaking into Summer. Pouring into the warming air, odours from barley, onions, Cheeses and salted meats; Straining oxen, burgeoning shoulders bunched, heaving upon Creaking carts; Following behind, a stream of artisans; on occasion A richly stained, streaked and glowing, sinewy runner Stepping out from the column to disappear into the glare Of shimmering heat That sapped unto and pulled upon our strength... It seemed as if all the weary day we marched. The only men in the world for whom war brought a respite From the training For war; soon the ritualistic oiling of limbs, a careful, Symbolic arranging Of long, plated hair -- the oncoming battle which gladdened Our steadfast hearts! A young goat, before onslaught, sacrificed to Artemis Agrotera; entrails Examined for favourable omens. Flesh of ram and Sheep offered to Zeus:- Him whom emblazoned upon impregnable hoplites; an Eagle, Opposite to the throne, Hungry to tear at the exposed ribs of corpses; and, not Forgetting - "Them"! "Them" who must again prevail; Is there any other choice other than death? Therefore -- Let loose The shackled Titans!!! A trumpeting of salpinges, The spontaneous, eerie moans From flute and pipe, the thumping tympanon -- Massed panic amidst rising fear! The bronze wall of indestructible armour bristling with Lance and spear; The tightly packed Phalanx; the stabbing...deathly cries... The horrid groans. This is all they shall ever know of Sparta...because what More is there to know? The scattered ranks. Wide eyed, snorting, galloping Horses with nostrils flared Charging across the breeze! Men, headlong and stumbling, Flailing beneath Many flashing hoofs; spilt blood, red as our fluttering Cloaks, that pools and flows Like a slaughtered bullock's. Now the shattered land; Those whom shared In this butchery pursue not the vanquished, But, rather, indulge a brief Homage to the palm branch Goddess; it is she who Inscribes the victorious Upon her shield. The sudden quietening; the somber falling In; the fallen, glorified dead. For what was left of us... Grateful ruminations. And only I alone noted the yellowing In a single, downward traipsing leaf. But, oh! Oh, Sparta...if you had but only ever known...........