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House of Atreus

PostPosted: Wed Apr 24, 2019 12:25 am
by Saturn
House of Atreus

We are the cursed clan,

The god-damned brood,

Self-Ingesting, heart-sick

Authors of our own demise.

No sooner a page turned

Than pell-mel, its fold

Feels its back bend over

Itself, creased, crushed

And utterly deformed.

The songs fail: silent

Is the Lyre, strings

Unravelled, as if

Now struck dumb:

Her melody just

A memory spun

by her weeping

Sister Muses.

Generations of

Same-soil sons

And daughters

Will not sprout

Afresh from the

Dragons’ teeth.

Weary Peace

Drys her tears

And holds the

Tiller once more

And we stand

Behind, ready

To take hold

Spite of slack.


For Lyra McKee.