Philoctetes's Bow | Teen Ink

Philoctetes's Bow

November 9, 2015
By nubertimothy BRONZE, South Plainfield, New Jersey
nubertimothy BRONZE, South Plainfield, New Jersey
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

All know of the bow of Paris:
The curvaceous, keen instrument marred by a clumsy, cowardly wielder
Like an elegant, exquisite lyre whose rhythm is ruined by young, dumb hands.
By Paris’s side, only a God could inspire that glorious weapon -
stifled wings clipped by an idiot falconer -
To do great things and kill a dreaded foe.

Fewer know me,
the bow of Philoctetes,
Born of the unholy kiss,
Between stone and Hydra’s bile.
I was forged in blood,
and in blood I remained.
Not poets, but heroes,
wrote my sanguine legacy,
in dark, crimson ink -
trickling, flowing, flooding,
from arterial riverbeds,
onto battlefield oceans.

Paris’s bow killed Achilles and got the glory, undeserved,
While I slew Paris, a triumph gory, unperturbed.
The former catch received of praise a flood,
While mine accompanied a mere, soft thud.
Emerges a question of honor,
From those grisly, contrasting slaughters:
Should one strive to be lucky and great,
or  skilled and collect not an utter?


The author's comments:

Format is extremely important to this piece, and the submission format on this website has altered the intended format.  Many literary lines of this poem are too long to fit on one physical line in the submission box and, if this poem is published, I hope that can be fixed.  This is because the first stanza of my poem is supposed to convey an air of elegance, while the second is supposed to be short and precise.  The third stanza tells a story, so it is more lyrical in nature than either of the other two.  This all combines to not only inform the reader of the character of the poem, but also give the poem the shape on a downwards-pointing arrow, which is apropriate since this poem is about bows.  Please, please, please try to print it in its original format if it is selected.  Finally, as this note is really addressed to the editors, please do not include it next to my piece if it is published.  I would prefer to let the readers interpret my work according to their own psyches, and extract from it what they wish.  I come to you as a humble Howard Roark, beseeching you to let my art stand on its own, as it was meant to be.


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