The hemlock ritual
As Socrates calmed the council by speaking up,
Í, slow and aged, being sentenced to drink from the cup.
Being condemned by truth as guilty iniquity,
injustice phenomena throughout antiquity.
Í abide my sentence and so will you all,
perhaps it ought so to be, by a greater call.
My prophetic voice as guardian deity,
must warn you about trifling affairs of society.
Laws of nature and reverse equality to action,
will cause your spheres to become the sanction.
Death for me is impossible by mental discipline,
privation of all senses is the sleep without dream.
A passage from soul to soul in the eternal night,
prayers with respect to death, turning of the light.
I bear no resentment towards my accusers,
intention caused by fears belong the losers.
As long you care more for power and riches,
or anything else before virtues above, which is.
Time to depart for me to die, for you to cheer the live,
knowing that my journey as soul has no deprive.
Copyright © Robert Rittel | Year Posted 2021
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