She knelt naked on a jagged stone,
a cool, crystal stream nearby whispered "drink"
but to its call she was deaf.
Olive and fig trees offered her their fruit,
soft grasses a peaceful bed
but to those danglings, she was blind.
Her once pale skin, burnt red
and cracked from an Agammemnon sun.
She had no reason to resist her fate,
not even the flies that devoured her,
spawning generations in dried blood.
Once brimming urn, now parched and dry
empty of tears, screams silenced, devastated soul.
Her hopes and dreams lie
shattered, scattered, splattered
on the cruel stones by the walls of Troy.