The city is burning.
Come flee with me to the hills.
The Greeks have burst
from the belly of their great horse.
This is another poem
about the ruin of our universe.
They'll char the city
make it black and drag
that hag Helen back.
There are lines on her face now,
almost as if the entire war
had been scratched out in flesh.
This is the war of the old,
let Troy burn with a whimper.
Let's go to the hills
and let the dying world, die.
We'll walk together
along river banks, through fields,
grow fat and old and drunken
and recall the night the
burning city kept us weary.
by Adam Tod Leverton
Adam Tod Leverton was born in Canada, but now lives in Poland. His wildly modest ambition is to have a million people read his first chapbook, Broken Wing, a collection of what may be loosely described as 'love' poems. If you like this poem and would like to check out his entire chapbook please contact him by email atleverton at yahoo dot ca for a free pdf version. His work can also be found in Angelic Dynamo, Best Poem, Censored Poets, Claremont Review, Clockwise Cat, Conceit Magazine, Dangling Hook, Decanto, Falling Star, Green Beard, Halfway Down the Stairs, Mississippi Crow, Purdee, Poets Against War, Poet's Ink Review, The National Post, Open Minds Quarterly, Perpetual, The Monsters Next Door, Scar TV Radio, Shine!, Spoken War, Static Movement, Whatever is Pure, Word Slaw, and Ygdrasil. He is the poet in residence at Purdee.
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