Martial

[billy]

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?

very warlike, yet very questioning, as though a sickness for the fight descended, but on a personal level. everyone has said anything i could think of, the new enjambment works better i think.
i really thought i'd left a reply on this, sorry.