Judged Poem by Thomas Ware

Barred by breaking basalt,
Bound by burning bails,
Sit the Eld in ancient vaults,
Built before the world was stale.

Tried and found by mighty courts,
Convicted for their crimes,
But should they have had that awesome privilege?
Should the Eld's world have been cut short?
Should the Eld have been condemned until the end of time?

Who is this jury,
To have such power?
Who are the Eld,
In this dark tower?

Statuesque kings of majesty, might,
The rulers of daylight, now, of night.
Corrupted by the right to judge,
Down from thrones to sludge.

Crowns of metal that's not gold,
Crowns of evil shape,
Crowns of metal ever cold,
Signifies kingdoms never escaped.

Ragged regalia, finer than silk,
Black and green, once white as milk.

Jailed for their lies,
Crimson are their eyes.

Strong bodies, once great,
Now atrophied, imbued with rage and hate.

Before, they strove to bend and break,
The walls, but could not their prison unmake.

Now they sit.
Now they wait.
Once they hit.
Once they bit.
Once they ate.