The Voice

The ravens are my shackles,
They tie me to this earth
They force me between life and death.

What wings wait for me while molting blood?
Dark drips that fall down the cheek,
Slowly becoming clear and then white.

As the sky opens up and it snows
The freezing chill sets my bones -
Cracking them against Roman backs.

That torture they forced upon us.
Made me another victim of slow death,
Where birds feasted on my flesh before last breath.

Within my bosom I cradle life,
And my eyes hold eternal silence.
Forcing each man to his knees.

What is my name?
I am no Greek adventurer,
My patron Goddess is not Athena.

Yet I covet this name more than any Cyclops
With winged arms I try to reach the ground
Try to become part of the earth, become a dream.

But even as my bonds break-
As the snapping of the ice ivory resounds
And I fall to the ground, this nightmare remains.

I do not sleep in the ground but fade to the sky,
The same as the rest who wait on bleeding wood-
And with one voice we call injustice

We won't let them forget.
This pain undeserved, this torture never forgiven.
They will remember us, and I with all of them become...

"Nemo!"
And fade away as death flees from my eyes
And my soul is released into the air,
To haunt the minds through all eternity.