Verdict A-Pox-Be

Steel charisma broken free

Congregate amongst

A gaggling of sums

If hope concludes prior to verdict,

Does eternity rest entirely?

Upon such darkened days,

 A judge, man, pretender, garbed in silk—

 Unveils judgments, predicated by mortal law,

As spoken by a chorus of peers

Crowds, the stimulus deprived, crash-watchers

Merge with the anti, all in the name of show

Beneath the guise of justice,

Saunter stands in arrival formation,

Gathering amongst their sects,

There, at such time,

Outside the courthouse—

Beneath its steps,

Chants spew forth—

And the names of the devoutly fallen,

Echo, well prior to any announcement

or final rendering, promoting the semblance

of relation, where deities easily strike a similarity of fear through

Transformation as evinced from bolts flung from clouded cover

In such episodes of regression,

Fate appears predetermined,

Perhaps a cyclicality of prophecy

Shall flood the mental indices

So easily man casts man

Under condemnable outlines

Skirts of what once Is

The color of blood stirring under flesh

Means nothing

The accuracy of ruling is secondary

To the corralling of public sentiment

For the face of the betrayed

Shall eventually watch his last hours dwindle past

Shall eventually see that last mile strolled

Until the color of blood stirring under flesh

Mingles with serum made by flesh

Thus ending any visual reminder

Of the judgments we once crawled begging for

Justice and her scales

May as well reconstruct the garden labyrinth

I’d assume the beast found there

Will lend much more just an ear