Standing before Rembrandt´s Homer

 

Midday on the shoulder, Dawn´s fingers
No longer rosy, tarnish the heavy folds.
Golds so bright, the crinkled eyes 
Almost blinding the pupils spilling
Shipless oceans washing into the dark.
See how the battle lingers, Achilles´
Chariot binding the heavy temples
Dragging Hector round and around
And around. In the open mouth
Cursed Cassandra. 
Prophecies exhaled as death what
Forgiveness indeed, after such knowledge.
Aged Rembrandt in such haste
The vast canvas washed in shadows
Such a waste of immortality, poor
Homer, endlessly reciting our sins
Hands half raised, so many fathers
Pleading for their children´s bodies.