The glory gained, fleeting as
grains of sand in a tight fist, never
embedded in you, seeping
through your fingers, you
can’t take it with you, you’re buried
with what you can into this world, nothing
so that prestige of yours which was attained through sacrifice, that
price of blood you paid for a moment of recognition,
was it worth it?
The same hands that chased fame, once
caressed her soft oval face, her
hand wrapping around your finger, the
same one you used to order your men, that
hand that was so caring, once, now
hardened by the blood of your love, the
Gods were pleased, but
can that hand of yours ever feel anything again?
that hand signed a pact with the devil,
your heart for eternal fame,
infamous you became,
was it worth it?
What did you do with the riches?
Others sing of your end, the
victory of yours is mentioned in lamented tones,
your memories are accompanied by tears,
not happiness for you buried love and rowed your boats over it, poisoning
your household, what man can be forgiven for that?
Yet you lifted your land above all others, so
the whole world saw what greed gets you,
you became an example and not a beacon, so
was it worth it?
The blade won you your name,
the blade marked you as cursed,
were you even happy for a moment?
Did you not hear your daughters scream when others sang songs of triumph?
then one has to wonder,
Agamemnon,
was it worth it?
For more daily updates follow me on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/learned_living/
Learned Living 