Chronicle IX
Judgment
The blackened stones rose o’er the tan and green,
With cloaks of gray spread out on chapel walls.
A disciplined reaction to the fiend,
Each judge cast down with force from protocol.
These bureaucratic spells sprang to the hide,
But searing, rotting holes did stay and rest.
The beast could not but stumble out of stride;
A slouching god encumbered by a test.
A putrid liquid burst on chosen ground,
While skins and cloaks were made to be the same.
Soon mounting prayers repaired the melted pounds,
Both sides stood silent bearing studied pain.
A desperate struggle waxed and waned twelve years,
‘Twixt son born dead and stewards of god’s fear.
