The tears
I
shed,
are full
of dread.

War
has
come,
and it
has
taken.

My family
is
gone.

They were
lost
to
war.

Their blood
cries out
to
me
from the
darkened
soil.

Their wrecked
bodies
lay still,
locked
by
death.

Their souls
are
banished;
forbidden
to come
back.

I
shriek
a prayer
in vain,
telling
whatever god
that may listen,
to take
away
the pain.

The wind
rustles
through my
hair, and I
cast
a
stare to
the
horizon.

A horn
borne
from Hades
sounds; I
rise
from the
ground.

I draw
my
blade,
and point
it
towards
the hordes
of
Hades.

Anger is
burning
in
my eyes;
blurring
my
sight.

I
pray
again
to any
of the
gods.

The salty
tears of
Poseidon
are no
more,
the hot
breath of
Zeus
has
dried them.

I
look up
to
the heavens,
and I
thank the
gods
for
strength.

The dark hordes
blot
the fair
horizon,
I run to them,
sword in
hand—
ready to fight,
ready
to avenge
the
dead.