Ares

Our valor you reward with scars and dread. The honors you bestow leave good men maimed. Though back from battle, lauded with loud cheer, the din of combat rings on in the head of each who’s seen things better left unnamed that slaughtered friends and comrades they held dear. Your vultures spread their wings in sun to dry the stench of carrion from bloody death picked over, after ravaged by your dogs, while armies, trained to never ask you why, rush on until they huff-in Hades’ breath to join him in his misty world of fogs. Heroic soldiers, these who are now gone, will never know whose side you’re really on.