Achilles and the Fisherman

A man and his wife, in a home
Of mud and walls of air. Unfazed by
Swords and shards that lay around them.
Lived in peace, they did. The man,
Had not held a blade, other than to cut fish.
His woman, worshipped Apollo, but a priestess to him alone.
Dead in each other’s lap, they were buried,
By their beloved sea. A sea that saw a thousand ships,
A sea that is remembered more for the lives that ended,
Than the end that lived.

Not far from them, lies another man, far from his bride,
She worshipped Apollo and a priestess to Him alone.
A man known for his prowess with the sword and with death.
A man remembered across the ages. Giving up life,
His and others, for the sake of glory, to be remembered.
Remembered, in myth and memory, not as a strong warrior,
But one with a weak tendon. Killed, his slow demise watched
By the one he loved, the only one he loved.
Separated from her, in both life and death, in pursuit of glory,
Glory that made him be remembered, by all to come.

So, while one remains nameless and the other a tall memory,
Both are now dead and long gone. The nameless is unheard of,
And unremembered, but known. His wife knew him, so did his friends.
Remembered or not, he lived a life of happiness and understanding.
Wisdom brought from life, living and not ending it.
So who would you want to be? The unglorified fisherman,
Who his wife knew, loved and sheltered in her bosom?
Or the glorious warlord, favoured by the gods, but unknown,
Even to the woman he loved, more than his own life?
A life of love sans memory or one of glory sans affection?