Live Equally With Faith

Live Equally With Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 07

Sunk in dire gloom of her brave misery, 
Blathnaid lifts heavy sorrow of her head 
to stare bleak-eyed at meadow of bright flowers 
where bodies of young men clutching cracked spears 
still groan in agony of painful death 
till eerie silence shudders in soft breeze. 

When she finds the lyre that Achilles stole 
from Eetion, father of Andromache, 
Blathnaid nestles small curved-wood instrument 
on her lap, like mothers cradles newborns 
to suckle them with milk, and strums taut strings 
that vibrate with elegy of despair. 

Failing to find words that clearly express 
anguish of her heart at death of young men 
who could have lived unremarkable lives 
with loving wives while raising happy children, 
Blathnaid shrieks at corrupt justice of Heaven 
till her body shakes uncontrollably. 

Why would you die for some young mortal man, 
Blathnaid howls at corpses with trembling voice, 
to crown him leader of our hill-wild tribes 
because his grandfather once wore gold crown 
while claiming authority from High Heaven, 
instead of dwelling in your own safe homes? 

Though your cowardly king has quickly fled 
over the sea to Skye in boat of fear, 
Blathnaid caresses blank face as she sobs, 
I have remained with fate-abandoned corpses 
to lament bitter loss of your brave souls 
that could have brightened our land with joy. 

Why have the tribes of men throughout all time, 
in every land around our roomy world, 
Blathnaid sighs as she buries more dead soldiers, 
always chosen to crown the strongest man 
as leader who enforces tribal laws 
and orchestrates their wars to conquer land? 

Why can men not live equally with faith 
as colleagues sharing rich communal space, 
Blathnaid glares at the fallen crown of gems, 
instead of building hierarchical states 
that allow managers to exploit workers 
then living on wealth they extract from slaves? 

Heart purged of anguish at loss of brave men 
from hot tears that cleanse their faces of blood, 
Blathnaid strums long-lost lyre of Mercury 
as she journeys in the Scottish highlands, 
and sings of boys who fought with bravery 
in every feasting hall where people weep.