There was a march this morning,
and knights gathered for the spoil-
The riches of the land fell to
their feet,
and their hands caused great despair.
The hooves trampled the ground
as the gods sat down, observing the devastation.
None raised an eyebrow; no finger was lifted-
All feared the escape of men from their hands-
their throne trembled at the hope of freedom—
and their sky was shook by thunders of liberation.
Where are the [G]ods?
But where is Death?
And where stood the Cherubs?
Where are the souls of the slaughtered saints?
Isn’t there who listens to the cry of the women?
Where are the guardians of the house of the [A]lmighty?
The staff of the [L]ord is drunken with the spilled
blood of children-
A [F]ather has sat on a throne of skulls-
Rise, O Earth!
The outcry is unbearable and the Princes
were found guilty-
Mene, Mene, Tekel Upharsin-
Their days are numbered; they have been found lacking-
Upharsin, Upharsin, but not half a shekel—
but not divided——
but shattered——————
——————
—R.
© 2026 Rhéa Hleihel. All rights reserved.
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