XXII

The Earth's intestines clutched my form
with muck and grimy mire,
a depth of horror past forlorn
to stoke my anger's fire.

I'd landed in the blackest slime,
soaked in the town's dark blood;
a buried abattoir of filth,
a lake of oil and mud.

The pump was groaning up above,
the ground growled of its loss.
The air was shuddering with fear
as man stole Earth's black gloss.

I knew, then, Mother wanted help
and I could be her knight.
This lake - the folly of their greed -
could undo numbers' might.



XXIII

I rummaged through my carry-sack
with need fuelling my stare
until I found combustion's birth
adorned within a flare.

With grim design and grimmer face,
I clambered through the dark
and climbed foundations of the pump
without a sound to hark.

In desperate times we find a way
to dig up what is right
from ages-buried treasure troves
we choked with our insight.

Into dry dusk I made my way,
a creature of the deep,
clad thick in murk and cold lament
for crops I must now reap.



XXIV

I trudged unto the village well
and sank to weary knees.
I bellowed out a primal yell
for all the flock to heed.

They came to me with angered awe
across collective face -
they saw my mercy like a rock;
the fate they must embrace.

The Judge approached to spell my death
with but a violent point,
but then my flare lit up the night.
"The darkness I anoint!"

I watched their faces bow to fear
as light slipped down the well,
these misled fools I'd not allow
to sound the Earth's death knell.



XXV

The fire burned out the world that day
and gorged on holy air.
It supped on lives brought up on lies
and stripped the dead land bare.

The sky lit up with flaming light -
a visit from the sun -
the long-black air lit up as bright
as powder from a gun.

The town was taken by the clouds,
become but motes of dust.
The Judge, his hate, his every heir
I gave to higher trust.

I cannot know if 'Arbiter'
was my job to assume.
I only know this crater's depth
will be my sad heirloom.