HERE LIES A LOWLY LEGIONNAIRE:

For The Greater Glory Of Rome:

I can give no substance to my thoughts, nor pity to my hurts. I am tortured by my own weakness and inadequacy, broken by my trust in the goodness of mankind, butchered by my own obedient heart, which can endure this wretched mockery no longer. If one thought or action could contain the salvation which I seek, I would gladly grasp it now, for I am humbled and ashamed, trampled and forlorn; as the disaster I am conspiring is devised for me alone.

I will not be content until I have burned this temple to the ground, for there is no one I can love, none who will assuage my self-effacing desire to destroy all knowledge of myself. I will become as empty as the stone, broken by the storm, shattered by an overwhelming power, which it cannot possibly begin, to seek or comprehend. These phantoms stir my thoughts to acts of retribution and revenge, but my rage is not complete; only once the battle comes can I truly defeat myself, having fallen down, to a feeble death, a life wasted utterly, upon the blade, of this, my blackened sword.