Tom Simard

Poetry, Music, and Prose

Archive for the category “Book 21”

Book 21

“Odysseus strung the great bow. Lifting it up,
He plucked the string, and it sang beautifully
Under his touch, with a note like a swallow’s.”

Book 21

“My beautiful streams are clogged now with dead men’s bodies,
and I cannot pour myself into the shining sea,
choked as I am with the dead. Enough of this brutal
slaughter, Achilles. Stop now. I am appalled.”

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