Greek

Questing rivals forcing spear embankments
through rusting juts of tin-iron armour,
reddish bearing china-men
fluttering flags through frumious fields, forged by farmers.
Now bare soil lays acid with dead clay
since men and women trudge day-by-day,
but only women forge silver and golden children
out rainforests and jungles of fertility
once brotherhooded by stringish cloaks.
Now riff'd by saws and chains and quadr-o-peds
that maim and rip and roar and tear and scream through
inglorious vines all seething in playgrounds of
dreamless thought once pursued by nightmares of love
but now just impressured by an emotion
lacking in such things as
overdrawn, unremaining, irregardless, remissing
bliss.

Gama Patre.