Edit 26/09/11
Last summer I was the horseless Alexander,
building monuments to conquests I would never make again
while men clamoured for recognition
of their two-footed stumbles.
I could not turn off the sun,
so I hid under their skin.
For ages we burrow, burn and
sup at complicated tables,
with tongues and hands
helplessly divided.
What good are accolades, shining shields
and ceremony, when the earth itself
rejects you?
Original version
Last summer I was the horseless Alexander,
building monuments to conquests I would never make again
while men clamoured for recognition
of their two-footed stumbles. I could not turn off the sun,
so I hid under their skin.
For too long we burrow,
burn and sup at complicated tables,
with tongues and hands helplessly divided.
What good are accolades, shining shields
and ceremony, when the earth itself
rejects you?
Last summer I was the horseless Alexander,
building monuments to conquests I would never make again
while men clamoured for recognition
of their two-footed stumbles.
I could not turn off the sun,
so I hid under their skin.
For ages we burrow, burn and
sup at complicated tables,
with tongues and hands
helplessly divided.
What good are accolades, shining shields
and ceremony, when the earth itself
rejects you?
Original version
Last summer I was the horseless Alexander,
building monuments to conquests I would never make again
while men clamoured for recognition
of their two-footed stumbles. I could not turn off the sun,
so I hid under their skin.
For too long we burrow,
burn and sup at complicated tables,
with tongues and hands helplessly divided.
What good are accolades, shining shields
and ceremony, when the earth itself
rejects you?
It could be worse