A straight line has no corners.

Days lead into days
of straight ahead lines,
I am just an ordinary,
old schooled legionary
out of time with his world.
In a century imagined
I’d never see,
scarred from too many battles
with Barbarians.

Our monuments,
they’ve alas crumbled,
given themselves unwillingly
to the sea, not wanting to be
rediscovered, “Carpe Diem”
thrown upon its head;
a plaque under the waves.

I’ve Viewed the statues
of the Gods and Goddesses
from sideline standpoints,
caught fish swimming through
their armless elbows,
necklaces of pearl, azure,
just precious weights
to submerge in transition.

There’s emptiness within
those marble set features,
the missing limbs, chiseled lips,
from subtle to strong Roman noses,
once so carefully formed,
now broken, askew;
as if that’s what they always
were.

On the new shoreline,
you stood beside me, my love,
posed in their place, smiled.
Shook the old world from your hair
like Neptune’s daughters
discarding tridents for a nets,
and it was no use denying,
we soldiers were captured
by a different pace, along a path
which really didn’t matter
how direct it was.

You can’t fight every war,
sometimes you just have to live.