Upon Troy’s battlements

I will not say
       that the cards dealt
were marked
       or that such were
the merciless stars
       that shone upon
those dark nights
       when I struggled
to find my path
       my soul

in the stillness
       in the morning silence
broken only
       by voice of thrush
and sparrow and
       cooing dove
I stand by my choices
       and the consequences
thereof
       and look to the future
my body yet to collapse
       into wrack and ruin
my desire to love
       and be loved intact

Today I hold
       my hand to the fire
hell has no mysteries
       it is heaven that eludes
or provokes with promises
       of rude passion to tempt
our tender flesh
       into submission
or beguiles us with
       crude images of beauties
that stalk the flaming
       battlements of Troy

John Lyons