The tears of the father, they flowed like a river,
Each crystal of sorrow like a star in the sky.
Their flow seemed eternal, his woe without end,
For his grief was a wound that he could not let lie.
From the walls of his city he’d watched and he’d cried
As the death of his son stole all light.
His gardens deserted, the sun turned to ice,
His pain and his grief tore the world day and night.
And unto his own death the old man did weep,
Raging in darkness now his son did not live.
In perpetual mourning he passed out his days,
That others were living he could not forgive.
For Priam of Troy lived in the greatest war
And for the grief that he felt he would only gain more.
Those of you who are not familiar with either the Iliad or the Aeneid will probably not know the tale of King Priam. While I would definitely recommend reading either, those looking for swifter answers to the questions ‘Who is Priam?’ and ‘Why is he weeping?’ will find them here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Priam. Be warned, the article does contain spoilers for the Iliad (Although, since it’s 2,500 years old, that’s probably fine), and fails to answer the questions with anything like the style of Homer – and yes, I appreciate that fail to describe Priam as well as Homer as well.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic