Poetry

They were all men preoccupied
with the fame that death would bring.
Honor for them
was war and living through it; history
the sweet thrill of their blood mingled with dust.

So they wrote their names in the sands
of time, with the sword of generations.
Their spirits in a piece of steel passed down
from father to son: that was the great honor
of being a soldier of Troy, much deeper
than love and more powerful than death.

                                                             Nicholas Alexander