Cyrene, as never before seen.
An horrific dream.

Gore at my feet, tears on my cheek.
Fighting hard and pushing east.

... Street, by bloody street.

Corpses float past, no shadow to cast.
An ogre, chokes it's last!

A beetle comes afore, it's end my claw.
Nerves fried and raw!

A joke about tea, hoping for glee.
Whilst making painful memory.

That mother on my mind, her death not kind.
Rage released and blind!

This business grim, soul now dim.
Only vengeance left within.

Hours to days, memory a haze:
Of bloody streets and moving east.

... I made my peace at least.

Then came dawn, I stood forlorn.
In silence, did I mourn.

This victory, of joy bereft!
Made so, by countless dead!

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Miraman, in the year 803 AF.