Argh! What a courtroom manís wretched life be
Where sentence be issued most speedily.
Yea this courtroom be a Dictean Cave,
Where enters lone monk with ritual shave.
In grotto of peculiar placelessness,
They worship Creator in faceless bliss.
But in cavernous chamber of stone heart
Doth labyrinthine thoughts make him depart
Like Zeus from Rhea, like child from womb
He springs forth from darkness
From tomb to tomb
His conception conceives his patricide
In war for soul rule man hath judge defied
Fatherís seed did breed sonís strong denial
And hence made son the judge of his trial
Underworld nor afterworld rules his soul
Twas Godís choice man be Themisí equal
And balance in his small pan of science
The weight of judgement and defiance
No weight as uneven burden doth quell
Yet man Ďlone be the fulcrum of this scale
Copyright Eric Wasiolek 1975 as an Excerpt
from my poem "The Silent Judge"