A poem that describes horrors of what women went though in the Trojan War!

In the shadow of the walls of Troy, Where banners of valor once sang with joy, Women dwelled in a world torn apart, Their lives threaded deep with sorrowed heart. Beneath the clang of swords and cries of men, They watched as fate sealed their fates again. From mothers weeping for sons lost to night, To brides turned spoils in the flickering fight. Andromache, with her heart in despair, Saw Hector fall, a hero laid bare. In the ruins of dreams, she gathered her grief, Clutching the remnants, the echoes of belief. Cassandra, cursed with truths none could hear, Foretold the doom, a fate so austere. Her visions of fire, of death's cruel embrace, Met with derision, the scorn on her face. Polyxena, pure, with the light of the dawn, Danced with a fate she had no hand drawn. A sacrifice made on the altar of war, Her spirit extinguished, yet tales still implore. The walls that protected, now echoed with screams, As warriors ravaged the land of their dreams. In the throes of the night, women wailed low, For lost were their children, their kin, and their glow. In the shadow of Achilles, in the wrath of the gods, They bore the torment and silent nods. For what is a city when honor is marred? What hope for the innocent, broken and scarred? But in memory's grasp, let their stories be told, Of strength woven fine, of hearts made of gold. For through every trial, as the ages unfold, The courage of women shines brighter than gold. In the echoes of war, let their voices rise, For the tears they have shed are the dawn in the skies. Though battles have battled and history be known, The heart of a woman still claims a throne. Update (2024-10-17): In the shadow of the gates of Troy, Where once hope danced and laughter soared, Now echoes of sorrow and shattered joy, A war-torn tale by grief recorded. Beneath the banners, bright and bold, The valor of men seemed forged in gold; But for the mothers, daughters, and wives, Their anguished cries, the haunting lives. The clash of shields and the warrior's scream, Veiled the whispers of a broken dream; As sword met flesh, and fire took flight, They bore the weight of a second night. Hecuba weeps in a desolate hall, Cloaked in the shadows of her children’s fall; Priam, her husband, the king of the dead, While fate's cruel hand takes their blood and lead. Cassandra, the seer, with visions so clear, Foretold the ruins they’d soon come to fear; Yet in her warning, a fate intertwined, A tale of despair that no one would mind. The handmaids suffered, their voices confined, Captive again, by war’s cruel design; With each fallen hero, more lost to the night, Their silence echoed, a heartbreaking plight. And as the ships sailed across the wide sea, What remnants of peace would ever there be? For conquered lands birthed no gentle dawn, But shadows that lingered, with hope almost gone. The spoils of war, a bitter harvest, Lives shattered in chaos, dreams left the sparsest; Through the ashes of Troy, where legends entwine, Lies a history stained with loss, by design. So let us remember, in tales we narrate, The horrors endured and the threads of their fate; For in every story of glory and fame, The women of Troy bear the burdens of shame.