Where once stood proud and strong, the victor,
bones of the slain and conquered
lay waste in the dust beneath sandaled feet.
Their names, now mere filigree,
etched and then forgotten, on a bloodied blade.
Struck. Stunned. Felled. Broken.
The sting and surprise of the blow,
awesome, yet paled by eventual realization
that the mighty has fallen.
Fallen. Sword never to swing again.
What manner of person remains
when a warrior is stripped of arms?
What manner of employ beckons
to one who claims worth through victory?
A life at peace breeds no peace
for one who craves the fight.
Now behold humiliated, the wounded and twisted remains
of one once valiant and brave.
Confusion clouding movement, unsteady and weak -
former glories unrecognizable to the hero
and to witnesses to the rubble that was once a god.