i am no whore with a heart of gold,
nor patchwork of sinew and sorrow,
my words sting and my hands are cold,
Cassandra will spend her days in the trenches,
crying out for wounds no man will know come tomorrow.
They called me Helen, who destroyed the mighty Troy,
veiled and heartless as the world screamed high,
an overthrown a husband in favor of a white-handed boy,
stained ichor on the ground below,
the feed a hunger the gods will never satisfy.
One day i will leave a prayer to faithless Zeus,
on behalf those who were struck down without a choice,
those who loved the wrong way, or died in vain of bitter truth
those who fought against the silencing of our voice.
The war won,
and the gods watched from afar.