A Student Of Man

My lord where is your crown?
Its jewels should be seen by the swallows from the south
Is it true you no longer wear it?
Or is it they are no longer needed?
The birthplace of intelligence falls
And culture resides below the hill with the eight letters
Where is God?
He is wearing your crown like a ring on his finger
And he points to each rift
Each crack within the earth- like a flaw unintended
Each mountain and plain- believing in nothing
Knowing there is no longer any heros to stand up to him
Only students of men
Who catalogue the helmets and spears
Of Ajax and his soldiers
Deep within the caverns of a city's museum
Where they sleep by day and finger the artefacts by night
I shall go there and steal the hidden armour of Achilles
Duffle coat and hat
And Ajax's suicide sword
Pen and golden signet ring
I shall raze the mountain of the eight letters
And build a ship with twilight's rope and moonlight papyrus
By the darkness I will sail over ripple, over wave
I will be the lonely man for all
Aboard a vessel poorly built
Bearded like Hadrian, like a century of poets
A sparkling eye reflecting off gilded ring
Sitting on wooden bench
Woollen pants warming legs, warming sword, warming bell
And when night has beed harvested with dawn's silver sickle
The Sun shall lead me to the shore of culture's birth
Everywhere ruined but within my heart
Pulling this boat onto the gravel and sand (not one the same but all alike)
I will set fire to my golden sail
There will be no leaving, no intention for escape
I need no boat back into the moth clouds of the west
With leather laces pulled tight and tied
I walk up bank and cleft and find morning upon a cradle of thought
Honey, sweet wine and white oats are to be thrown on the ground
And I call for the souls of the dead to save what was theirs
The whispering of the oaks
The poetry of the cauldrons
The roadside mountains
Olympus, Olympus, where are you?
Your lessons are being learnt by those who are no longer listening
You must inject wombs with great soldiers
Ones that will step upon the road and for a long time fight
Learning to love and die in each other's arms
To think of great things only to know oneself
Oh but now no one listens to me
And it is merely me and a god with a pointing finger
Kings no longer wear their crowns
I am naked on the Greek coastline
A breeze dries and curls my hairline
I fantasise saving this country with lessons from the past
I fantasise about walking to the oracle of the dead
I fantasise about awakening the gods
But the past has gone and this cradle can be found in any library in any city
So I look out at the new church tops
And I hope that the pointing god helps these people
Or a hero who can find achilles armour is born soon