Briseis' Lament

He is always the last
To leave the beaches strewn with dead.
He returns at dusk,
When the wailings of women pierce the air:

"O great Achilles, killer of men!
How many more of our sons, our husbands,
Our fathers and brothers,
Must you slay to quench your thirst?"

He is bloody,
Fulfilled with the ectasy of battle.
He bathes in the ocean; the red leaves his body
And the crimson blur lifts from his eyes.

He comes to me then,
Droplets trickling, caressing his magnificent body.
He loves me more fiercely, more sure and more passionately,
Than any mortal or immortal, before or since.

We lay together in his robes, happy and content,
And look to the constellations of heroes past,
Where he will be someday, when the War is done.
We talk of its end,
When we will be together and at peace-
A day that never shall come.

He is awake long after he thinks me asleep,
Haunted by his sword, ghastly in the moonlight.
He knows what he does, each day on the beach,
And the ruthless killer feels pity for his prey.

He is gone when I wake in the morning,
And with him, his weapons and armor.
He is gone to war at the walls of the City,
And in his rage, I know him not.

"O Achilles, as great in love as in war!
Why roam these gruesome shores
Like a lion, mad for blood,
And leave me forlorn and alone?"

He fights to become the hero
That we all expect him to be.
Later, he will fight his own battles
To find peace.