Praetor's Lunch

by Dom

ELEVENTH MORSEL

I am not one to dispute the will of God , divine will becomes our lot , but I question the logic of some . Foolish is the soul who enters the place , who announces his innermost desires , swears a gift in return , should they be fulfilled , by divine consent , upon his earthly cares , mortal souls have none to offer better , than the rewards of paradise , what are our trappings to heaven , when it is God who grants ? It is not worship or invocation , it is a wager posed by hubris , displace pomposity and affectation , come in a penitent pose , humility warrants attention , or else snuff the lamp , take the oil elsewhere .

I am not one to dispute the will of God , divine will becomes our lot , but I question the right of tyrants . Charred cities after their sacking , the cries of dependent humanity , sent to feed searing flames , the weak , meek and lame , no daylight dawns again , a winding trail of chains and clubs , the gathered wounded ; conquered , these tyrants do not govern , they seize and consume their fill , then hunger rumbles again , they repeat their atrocities , till the Fates pluck them . For each tyrant reaped , by droves victims precede them , their number exceed sacrificial offerings , made to appease wrathful spirits , or custom of ceremony , of a deity worshipped .