http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dying_Gaul.
I am humbled to know that the original statue is one of the most celebrated works to survive the antiquity.
It was murmured,
On a cold, crimson-colored night,
When the pyres burned hot and the echo of iron was long diminished,
That you fought with a titan’s frenzy
And passed on with quiet dignity
But mockery laced the accolades
Why, it was wondered, would a man shirk his shell,
Refuse his greaves, his breastplate, his helmet.
Did madness drive the purity of your ferocity?
Did sanity remain at the hearth, a tender recollection for a woman or child now enslaved?
It is said, when Achilles’ joy rested in your belly
When warm scarlet met earthen blue
That yours was not the face of one indignant
Rather perplexed
Incredulous
Stumped
Had you too been dipped in the River Styx?
Had pagan rites portended heraclean vigor to you and your clan?
Or perhaps the promise to an infant was enough you thought
To ensure the triumph of your race
Hellenic iron though, sought a different design
And isn’t it odd?
The assailant, sheathed in jubilance
Glorious in slaughter
Misplaced his glory in but one generation
But you, dying Gaul, live
To die another day.
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