Who is judged thus?
Be it an appearance
of mortal man? So the anger
speaks, the augur seeks,
the craven weep of mercy. By
rights, on whom the mantle
still obsidian rests, attest
not to shadows what was
seen.
It is a departure.
The setting straight of a crooked tale.
No more as orator,
in lieu a craft of subtler stead.
A waking of the worms
inside a head.
And so, a temporal adieu:
no more ask of whence
a body came, not
of why a soldier laughs or how
these bones collapse,
but of how a life resumes.
-the ambassador
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