Helen, As A Prayer Is To A Wish

On this holy Mount one final tear shed for the legends and gods this world outgrew, for years they fought, now their arms are weary and the voice of heartless time calls overdue. Through these empty halls winds of sorrow blew a sad farewell to those the poets loved, immortal beings though mortal flesh enjoyed their spirits burning like a forming sun reshaping the heavens, watching from above. Perhaps they wait in the chasm or the void and hope in vain to hear a praising tongue to reopen the gates, the timeless portal, where valour prayed and gave its sacrifice to warring clouds darkening and gray; the sword, the bow, the gold encrusted knife, untamed streams, the blue sapphiric ocean, men deigned for honor by this world enshrined, one thousand ships bound for fame and glory their great horns sounding, crushed Troy in her prime. Odysseus, Atlas, Hector and Achilles in the prestige of history their stories shine, their names remembered, forgotten are the kings and the corpses of the fallen left behind. Glowing in the embroidery of her dress, Helen, the most beautiful woman in the ancient world stood upon the Trojan citadel rallying passions from the furthest shores. Paris gazing on her naked form, his words fell deadened from his lips, in this love, as a prayer is to a wish, lost his pride in their first blinding kiss. Then defeat befell them before the dawn, Troy has fallen her beacon shines no more. What do the ruins and broken tablets tell of a greatness lost never to return?