The Charioteer

Poetic collection about Greece

 

I have no more fire from you but my words
I have no weapon but a sharp-edged pride
I fight naked, rubbed with oil, against death
Love me, Hellas, help me, against your death

Prow wood
of memory
Where are you Hellas? I know nothing of you
only this word spelled from lips
distant, this word of sand and plough
matin broken by fire