Much to my dismay, when scholars confide,
to this very day, they just can't decide,
that if great Hector, had held his two feet -
staving fate, from Achaeans' Achilles -
then, could Troy have stood, 'til this very morn?
The horse made of wood, thus never been born?
If their victory, was told unrefined,
would Greek history uphold in our mind?
So lets play 'what if', and re-create time,
by changing this myth, to fit my design...
Our scene takes place, near Athens, Greece,
whose fleets have chased, with speed increased,
Paris, whose haste, over love siezed,
for Helens' taste, trades war for peace.
'Cross Aegean brine, the fight's recast,
In Troy this time, the Greeks amassed,
on strict design, plans to outclass -
just over nine long years have passed.
Join Achilles, stricken acute -
revenge disease, on fast pursuit.
Slain Patroclus - Hector's impute,
and laughs at ease, without refute.
They square to each, and take the stand,
both lower reach, grabbing some sand.
They've eyes to leech the other man,
and plans to breach the others' land.
Amidst loud cheers, blazing Sun wields
bright rays that sear, razing dry fields.
This bout of peers, who never yield,
commenced with spears, glancing off shields.
Weapons are drawn, loose earth takes flight,
rippled arm brawn, war screams incite.
Full armor on, anger ignites,
mercy foregone, wrath at it's height.
Courts disagree, sans discussion,
taunts decreed begin rushing in -
guaranteed of reprocussion -
sword symphony, bronze percussion.
Now committed, to onslaught waged,
pride emitted - their fear upstaged.
Chance permitted, Achilles raged,
unrequited, his blade engaged.
The titans clash, now chest to chest,
face full of ash, clay 'pon their breast.
Hearts beat in thrash, breath held surpressed,
spitting and brash, the mob's impressed.
The Trojan prince, stumbles but saves,
Without a wince, balance persuades.
The chance not missed, he's rushed in waves,
Hector resists, through skilled evade.
With quick push back, tables are turned,
Greece is attacked, battered and burned.
No courage lacked, through respect earned,
Troy seems in fact, quite unconcerned.
They live their dreams, from walls up high,
as Hector screams, blood-lusting cries.
To each it seems it's Greeks' demise;
Achilles schemes a spry surprise...
Now on the ground, though wrought with pain,
He lays, astound, he's not been slain.
His strength rebounds, his will remains,
new vantage found - advantage gained.
Facing the crowd, Hector's aglow,
arms held up proud, back to his foe.
High as allowed, skyward they throw -
their hats now crown their new hero.
Until a shrill blares from behind -
seeking his fill, his shouts remind.
Achilles will, fight 'til he's blind,
they share that bill, he soon shall find.
Always prepared, Hector spins quick,
the trap ensnared, wise to the trick,
his dagger flared, his movements slick,
the crowd is scared, the tension thick.
Swords in the dust, short blades in hand,
with Trojan thrust, his foe is spanned.
Though still robust, the Greek can't stand,
to his digust, his wounds expand.
Though his vision, is turning red,
no admission, is writ or said,
no contrition, no tears are shed.
The crowd is wishing, to have his head.
Blessed by Priam, without repeal,
The prince gives them, Achilles' heel,
cut fresh from limb, against appeal,
Hector reaps grim, with his bronzed steel.
Bloody and prone, gasping for breath,
Achilles moans, begging for death.
Without postpone, Hector is deft,
his skill is shown, no life is left.
Having now fought, against his fate,
this victor ought, not stand and wait,
lest he get caught, by Greeks irate,
he slips inside wrought iron gate.
The thieves, they steal Achilles' sleeves,
they takes his shield, and don his greaves.
Their faith now healed, Hector percieves
the deal is sealed - his Troy believes.
Their best man beat, they all agree,
the Greeks retreat, towards Aegean Sea.
The Trojans meet, with killing spree,
pushed to defeat, the Greeks concede.
With Troy now saved, they expand west,
the path is paved, without protest.
The Greeks enslaved, possessed and pressed,
their rights depraved, from one contest.
Who knows how far, with drive applied,
Hector the Czar will stamp his stride.
Led by the stars, the tide his guide,
the door ajar, they push worldwide.
Rampaging to the river Rhone,
through forced subdue, they collect thrones.
The years ensue, the legends grown,
our stories through, the end unknown.
Part I - Truva