The Devourer of Man

Do not think to court the Mother of Battle
For She has no time, no patience, no mercy

For any but those who resist oppression
And offer their sweat and their blood to the cause

Reaper she is, by the few, by the many
By the thousands and more if her ire is raised
No end to the blood and no end to the killing
When it's time for her eyes and her claws to feed

None yet shall stand, and fewer still breathe
When the slaughter is done and the rage finally fades
Bastet is waiting, both sister and shape:
The form that peace wears when rage is assuaged

Blessed Osiris, who shall be ever grateful
May turn those away who inspired her wrath
So tread you with purpose, with peace, in protection

Of those who most need it upon that fell path