Achilles smiled when he was shot
He smiled, picturing Paris, atop the walls of Troy
That young prince
Smiling with great pride, the bow firm in his grasp
He had killed the greatest of the greeks
Everyone who fought beside Achilles
Said he was made for battle
Seeing his spear spin in the air
With such great speed
His armor, carried so many deaths, so many souls
Yet it weighed nothing on his shoulders
His feet, quick in their movements
Some divine dance, a performance even Apollo could not match
He was only a boy, focused, clear cut with his movements
Too naïve to notice
That the set was a battlefield