Born of the Gods

Muscles glow, clothing shines:
shaped and molded by hands divine;
born to be a hero among great men,
granted power far beyond the mortal ken;
with a sword that flashes like the sun's bright beam,
and a shield that glints like a star's far gleam,
the hero descends to the earth below; his purpose there for time to show.
Born of the stars, the sun and the moon,
The warrior awaits, his foes arriving soon.
To do or die, the time draws near,
As he sees the enemy in the distance clear.
Minutes later, he breathes his last, his story a tale destined to last.
Ranks of dead lay at his feet, he joins them now with his heart's last beat.
Having turned the tide, having saved the day, men stare awestruck, ending the fray.
A moment of silence for the hero great, then soldiers fall back and the battle abates.
Such is the power that the great gods wield, that with one such man they may level the field.