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The Son of Mars
Glistening bright with fury untamed,
his eyes scanned the enemies ahead;
His companions knelt to the ground, ashamed,
looking upon him with unhidden dread.
His dagger dripped with his blood, dark,
the sacred oath was taken;
His pain was bound to leave a mark,
the world was now forsaken.
The clouds rumbled with his roar,
the ground shook with his strides;
Fathomless pain as his heart bore,
his wrongdoers hid in their hides.
The whole world held its breath,
looking upon him with awe and fear;
He had started the game of death,
and the end of evil was near.
The Son of Mars called he was,
come to start the world anew;
and as he avenged his loss
against him stood only few.
Those who came before his eyes,
sunk low before him, afraid;
not many dared to rise,
and those who did, paid.
His eyes burnt with ire,
his heart heavy with tears unshed;
his sword masked the burning fire,
as his broken hear bled.
They saw his outer fury,
but not his inner pain;
they saw his sword as an unquestioned jury,
but not that, for him, it was a bane.
His eyes carried the tears of loss,
of his life’s beloved one;
one, who had become the cost,
of his life’s chosen run.
He didn’t want to go ahead,
but he didn’t have a choice;
and even if his heart bled,
it daren’t raise its voice.
So, though his own heart was broken,
his enemies were the ones who bled;
blood soaked earth was his last token,
as he now, aimlessly, went ahead…