PROLOGUE - Prayer and Rescue
Speak to me, O Muse. Speak to me of Rage.
Sing to me a dactylic hymn, of Fury
and the son of Nephilim. Sing to me,
Achilles, terrible Achilles, blunting His sword on the bodies of the wretched.
Does he come?
Its cold and my bound legs chafe against the frayed straps.
Has He brought endless chaos against those who keep me from the sky?
Do the brave hurl their bodies at the walls, and their souls at the Void?
Speak to me!
For nine months I have lain on this table.
I no longer feel the pain of my palms nailed to the rails.
Do heroes yield their bodies to the dogs and the vultures and the worms?
Or shall I remain captive
While rusted teeth tear the skin of my arms
And cold hands open my thighs in experiments?
My eyes are dried open
Speak to me.