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[chaplain118]

Moved to AAR forum

[Spartan 666]

very nice poem bud...

[verfed]

What's an aar?

[rory o'kane]

after action report. a war story.

[Tankbuster]

Wow, that's really good.

I was just wondering, are they all hexameters? If they are, then you're like Vergilius II

[Aristedes]

Nice poem, but ehm...i can't even write a decent AAR without a 'script'

[The Sundance Kid]

Surely an AAR would have to involve a game? An after action report of that poem would be.....well, that, wouldn't it?

Surely thats an AAR of a Punic Campaign. Or is it just me

[chaplain118]

@Tankbuster:
No, it's not hexameter but pentameter. but if I finally have time during the summer I'll try a translation from English to Latin

@Melboy
It's detailing the Second Punic War, so if anyone can make an AAR following history and my interpretations of it, then they will have my deepest gratitude and respect.

[Lost In Transition]

[quote=chaplain118;2366603It's detailing the Second Punic War, so if anyone can make an AAR following history and my interpretations of it, then they will have my deepest gratitude and respect. [/quote]

I'm sincerely curious - why don't you do this yourself? Anyone with the level of writing talent that you obviously have - for the poem is truly well done - would be able to do this easily.

[chaplain118]

The only problem is that I suck at making AARs... I've tried to make 6 already, and each time failed terribly.

[The Sundance Kid]

You obviously enjoy making poems more, I lose interest with AARs sometimes. But my point is that poem is the AAR -- its an after action report of the Punic War, in reality. So any AAR of that poem would just be.....the poem, without rhymes

I agree though, an excellent poem

[chaplain118]

Update:
----------------------------------------------------
Young Maharbal was the first one to feel
The madness of Alecto, like cold steel
Upon a dying man’s neck, spewing red
Blood upon the ground, fueling fearful dread
The young man goes mad, lashing out in fear
Cutting a swath through the lines with his gear
His maddened eyes lost all means of reason
Killing his friends by innocent treason
Here his stabbing iron runs through Shafat
Who never suspected his friend’s onslaught
Next came Adronidus, who felt the bite
Of the iron, without a fight in sight
A red flash and a Spaniard soldier falls
His tortured soul heeding Orcus’ calls
Noting the commotion, Numidian
Hanno breaks rank and attacks the madman
Burying his spear into the boy’s chest
Who falls into the snow without protest
Biting his tongue with clods of dirt and snow
His final vision was that of his home
Where his parents, sick with grief and old age
Waits upon their sole son, who shall assuage
Their dwindling years with his filial love,
Under the warm sun shining from above,
His father with tales of triumph in war,
His mother with her son whom she adored.
But now he shall never see his mother
Never regale his tales with his father
The two old couple, still waiting for him
Still staring out to the ocean’s rim
Searching for a sign of their precious son
To come back home; he must! When the war’s won
But alas their son can never return
All of their prayers to the gods were spurned.
Reaching out his hand, as his life poured out
To touch his mother’s face, wishing to shout
To the cruel gods of how heartless they were
To cut him down not in war nor slumber
Rather, by his comrade’s very own hands
In silence, his warm, steaming blood expands.

property of Chaplain118, quote with permission

[chaplain118]

Oh heartless Love was this your desire?
To tear apart the families of Tyre?
Is it not enough to raze our city?
To strike down our people without pity?
Have you not caused enough tears to be shed?
When Elissa killed herself on the bed
That you have tricked her into with your son
Who himself wept for Ilium long gone?
Were you not responsible for Troy’s fall?
When Paris chose you the fairest of all
Three goddesses, whose rage led to the war
Where Greeks and Trojans clashed on Asian shores.
But the unstopped madness of the Furies
Sweeps continually throughout the gullies
Of the Alpine passage, sowing the field
With dread, watering it with men’s dark blood
The Gauls, hidden in the sharp crags, concealed
From the Punics, now rushes out in a flood
Tisiphone cackles with cold, harsh glee
Whispering words of both hate and envy
Enraging the hearts of the Gauls, who thought
Of the fear of slavery as they fought
Against the Punics in the icy pass.
Megara, beating her foul black wings, shrieks
Which echoed like thunder through Alpine peaks
As night rushed forth from behind the mountains
Her terrible cries clutch the hearts of men
Some men abandoned their weapons, fleeing
Others begged for mercy before falling
The battle line becomes disorganized
Just as when a mighty warship capsize
And men are clawing at the cold water
Swimming for a nonexistent shelter
Crushing them as they scream, the tow’ring waves
Sends men to their icy, watery graves

property of Chaplain118, quote with permission