Ekphrasis - Capitoline Museum

A Single Stroke

If broken shield straps cannot sway the hearts

Of enemies of his and Roma, too,

Perhaps the splintered sword he holds apart

And chiseled wound in chest will have to do.

He does not ask for mercy from the sky.

This is not why he bends his knee of stone.

With shaking palm pressed to the ground he tries

To be that Roman soldier told in poems.

His wound was carved much later in his life,

Long after gleam and limb had gone amiss,

By one who thought with greed they had the right

To seal this hero soldier’s fate like this.

Who thought that it was up to them to carve

An ending new on this immortal one?

With just one stroke his hope was broke to shards.

His string was far from cut, his fight not done.

His fragile fear is there in muscles taught.

Too real stands out his unprotected heels.

One puncture turns his courage all for naught.

His brow, not eyes so blank, shows what he feels.

He looks up to his sword as he did when

The hilt was not all that his hand did hold.

Although shield broke one band remains to fend.

At least until that blow was made so bold.

And yet, one thing breathes life back into him.

The realm of Pluto colors not his face.

The whitest sheen of marble draws me in

To see the vibrant colors long erased.

Although he dies forevermore and now,

Young soldiers never really fall away.

Always the fight will stay creased in his brow,

And skyward raised his sword will yet remain.

The fatal artist’s one I can forgive.

Because, although he died, he’ll always live.