St George poem Chapter 1- Part 1

Finished Chapter 1 of my poem on St George. Fairly happy with it, though some editing is still needed. I'll post it in installments again as it is quite long (update: Blogger seems to suddenly be having trouble separating the stanzas- just to let you know, there should be spaces in there- its not just one very long stanza). Comments and criticisms are, of course, appreciated.

I

A weary world lies round the sea

At the centre of the earth;

A weary world awaiting death,

Or maybe a new birth,

For hedonism holds right well

The heart of king and serf.

The dying throes of empire

By dusk and day do sound;

Quite faint at times, at others loud,

Yet few could there be found,

While blood in the arena

Would gather men around

And willing men would enter in

And shed it on the ground-

Yes, few there were those echoes heard,

And those that did said not a word.

But Rome was great ere emperors

Took up the purple cloth,

Made great by good and simple men

With calculated wrath.

For generals might fight amongst,

And politics turn sour,

But every legionary-man

Stood ready for his hour.

And on the backs of men like this

The emperors rose high;

Great lustful, violent, ruthless folk

Who always meant the words they spoke,

Whose backs and spirits seldom broke,

Who looked death in the eye.

The purple-laden ones might well

Bicker like a boy,

But all the while soldiers stood

And smiled, true sons of Troy.

And civil wars might come to pass

And men be called to fight;

So fight they would, and bravely,

Be the cause of it wrong or right.

Barbarians would one day fill

The shoes of these good men;

They'd fight for Rome, and bravely,

But it was not home to them.

Pro patria- the legionary's cry;

His home was why he fought,

And he'd defend it with his life

Through any ill-begotten strife,

Protect home, children, land and wife,

Fight on without a thought.