Days pass like winter winds,
But memories of ****** sins
Of prisoners mine forever live
So long as I shan’t forgive.

IN HOC SIGNO VINCES

Atop a bench of elm,
The throne that rules this realm,
I, judge and jury, tread
The path of justice dead.

IN HOC SIGNO VINCES

A soul, grieved and daunted,
By malediction haunted,
Shall drop before me, praying,
Whilst I lean in, saying,

IN HOC SIGNO VINCES

“He is not I. Silence
Your foolish pleas of guidance.”
“I beg!” he shall say, “Save me!”
“Nay,” I shall say, “no mercy.”

IN HOC SIGNO VINCES

His penance I shall write,
And with eyes blank as night,
The soul will gaze, pleading,
With eyes he shan’t be needing.

IN HOC SIGNO VINCES

Their prison is not a cell
So solace cannot dwell;
Their fate: a wall of stone
Where they shall hang alone.

IN HOC SIGNO VINCES

I shall place his wrists in chains
Though I have not the reins
To latch his iron locks:
He bound himself to the rock.

IN HOC SIGNO VINCES

With a cry of a thousand woes,
A coal black mass of crows
Will swarm the soul to feast
And eat the morbid beast.

IN HOC SIGNO VINCES

After which, I shall call;
A soul shall approach the wall.
He shall gaze upon my empty face
Praying for fickle grace.

IN HOC SIGNO VINCES

Pray as he shall, no salvation
Follows recitation,
For I alone decide
How far from the path he strides.

*IN HOC SIGNO VINCES