Sing, oh Muse, of the
doom'd love of Peleus'
son. Achilles and
Briseis, Princess of land
Lyrnessus and Prince of land
Phthia. A fate
foretold in starry skies and
many human lives.
Briseis demigoddess
daughter of the dark haired one,
Athena. A quest
was given fair Briseis.
Sacker of cities
with his Myrmidons approached.
The king knew his city he
couldn't save. The gates
of Lyrnessus would not hold.
As black shielded wave
of fire and steel burst through,
silver dagger did he slip
into her hand, with
command to enter godlike
Achilles service,
to end the scourge of Troys lands.
Clever Briseis did prince
find, calmly kneeling
at the base of Athena.
Achilles orders
his soldiers not to touch her.
Grateful though she was for this
little fear assuaged
was. For a decent act not
always follows a
decent man with killers eyes
in war times. Months passed as she
tried to find a time
to fulfill her quest, but swift
footed Achilles
was rarely alone and she
wasn't willing to die with
him; a Myrmidon
would avenge his commander.
Captive life princess
grew accustomed. Briseis
cooked, cleaned, fetched water and he,
Achilles, never
raped her or allowed any to
raise hand to her. In
time Briseis found a mind
to equal her own. Chiron
had taught Achilles
well. More than master of war
was he. A linguist,
musician, politician,
even cook was Achilles.
Agamemnon's war
did Achilles grow weary
of; for he had no
love for the so called great king,
and toward home decided to
sail. Briseis was
given choice to return as
wife with him or to
go her own way. She chose to
be wife of Achilles. There
in Troad sand is
buried a silver dagger
deep, by Queen and King
of Phthia forever
more.

A/n The picture above is a stitching I did of my poem.