Shackleton's dogs
This is the nature of the hero:
After the dogs have burst their hearts
dragging hard cargo
across the burning snow,
they were dragged,
whining, yelping,
one by one
shot, skinned
and eaten.
The heroic soul
has little room for compassion;
it is lumbered too full
with ambition, certainty
and the unconquered distance.
Perhaps heroes,
being bred of gods,
demonstrate to us
the icy set of divinity,
the very nature of the beast.
grasshopper
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