“Here I am, an old man in a dry month, / Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.” —T.S. Eliot, Gerontion
“Enigmas never age, have you noticed that” —Donald Trump, in a 50th birthday greeting to Jeffrey Epstein, as reported by the Wall Street Journal, July 17, 2025
The Great Day of His Wrath by John Martin, 1853, oil painting on canvas.
Not with a whimper but with judgment— the hollow men are laid bare. Between the shadow and the substance falls the weight of what they’ve done.
April reaps the harvest of unburied sins, memory and justice tally their dues in the counting house of broken promises. The rats abandon ship; the reckoning arrives through cracks in gilded towers.
We are not hollow, not stuffed with lies— we are the thunder that shakes foundations, the rain that scours the ledger clean, the voice that names the unnamed.
In this valley of false prophets their empires crumble while truth endures, and when the smoke clears, we remain— the witnesses in the empty boardroom, the light that penetrates the shadow.
The desert remembers. The wasteland testifies. And those who thought themselves untouchable now face the music of their making: Here. Here is the bill.
Between the crime and the punishment falls not silence, but the sound of debts returning to their debtors— inevitable, unrelenting, just.
In the room the power brokers scheme and plot, but tonight the doors are locked and the receipts read aloud.
This is the way the world ends— not with their bang, but with our thunder— the final indictment.
Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Tower of Babel (c. 1563, oil on panel) Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna
Utopias, like theoretical economic models and theological constructs, are among the most daring expressions of human thought. Each arises from an impulse toward order and improvement, born of the conviction that the present is insufficient and the future can be shaped. Yet despite their elevated origins, these frameworks call to be eschewed—not for the good they propose, but for the horrors they have enabled when unmoored from humility and constraint.
The history of ideas is littered with systems that began in hope and ended in terror. Plato’s Republic, with its philosopher-kings and rigid class hierarchy, inspired centuries of authoritarian dreams. Soviet central planning promised rational allocation but delivered famine and repression. The Puritan theocracy in Massachusetts Bay sought godly perfection but produced witch trials and exile for dissenters. Each began as a vision of human flourishing—the utopian city, the rationalized economy, the purified creed—yet furnished the blueprints for regimes of control.
Nor is such danger confined to leftist excesses or theological zealotry. In Chile, the 1973 overthrow of Salvador Allende led not only to political violence, but also to the forceful imposition of a radical free-market model under General Pinochet, guided by economists trained in the Chicago School. The result was economic restructuring praised by some for its efficiency, yet experienced by many as immiseration and repression. Here, too, theory eclipsed humanity. Market mechanisms became commandments; dissenters were not debated but disappeared. What was billed as liberation through market freedom became another apparatus of dominance—less visible, perhaps, but no less brutal. The lesson is not partisan, but perennial: when theory is elevated above persons, systems serve themselves.
Elevated to ideology, models cease to be guides and become chains. They offer certainty in place of inquiry, coherence in place of complexity, and purpose in place of personhood. What begins as vision hardens into decree; what is meant as a lens becomes law. Mao’s Great Leap Forward exemplified this transformation: an economic model promising industrial prosperity became an unyielding doctrine that cost millions of lives when reality refused to conform to theory.
When the model becomes sacred, deviation becomes heresy. And where heresy is named, there follow inevitably the commissars, the inquisitors, the doctrinaires—those who patrol the borders of the permissible. Stalin’s show trials eliminated those who questioned economic orthodoxy. Both Catholic Inquisitions and Protestant persecutions took inhuman measures against those who strayed from their respective versions of theological purity. McCarthyism destroyed careers in service of ideological conformity. All operated in service of the model, the path, the “truth”—though truth, in such hands, is no longer a horizon toward which one travels, but a cudgel with which to enforce obedience. And perhaps there is no final truth to be had, only a multiplicity of partial illuminations, glimpsed through the mist, refracted through fallible minds.
And yet, it would be a grave error to reject these models wholesale. A utopia, though unattainable, directs the gaze beyond the immediate—Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Dream” inspired civil rights progress precisely because it painted a picture of what America could become. A well-crafted economic model brings coherence to chaotic phenomena: Keynesian theory, whatever its limitations, helped navigate the Great Depression by providing a framework for understanding how governments might respond to economic collapse. A theological vision offers moral orientation and poetic resonance—liberation theology in Latin America, despite its political complications, channeled Christian teaching toward concrete concern for the poor and oppressed.
When held lightly—non-dogmatically, open to revision, aware of their limits—such models are not prisons but tools. They help us navigate complexity, but they must never be mistaken for the complexity itself. The Chicago School economists who influenced policy in the 1980s offered valuable insights about market mechanisms, but when their models became gospel rather than guides, the result was often ideology that ignored market failures and social costs.
The question, then, is one of balance. Can aspiration be disentangled from absolutism? Can man dream without dictating, model without mastering, believe without binding? This is no easy task, for humanity is rarely a creature of balance. We veer, we commit, we grasp too tightly. The same revolutionary fervor that toppled the Bastille eventually devoured its own children in the Terror. But the remedy is not the renunciation of vision; it is the cultivation of humility within vision. It is the refusal to equate map with territory, model with meaning, doctrine with destiny.
If balance is the ideal, then it must rest not on detachment but on a deeper fidelity—one that refuses both rigidity and relativism. This is not a call to valueless existence, but to the most valued existence—one that honors core commitments through responsive attention rather than rigid prescription. The danger lies not in caring deeply about human flourishing, justice, or freedom, but in believing we possess the universal formula for achieving these goods. True fidelity to our highest values often requires abandoning our preconceptions about how they must be realized. It demands constant attentiveness to circumstances, genuine openness to what the moment requires, and the intellectual courage to adjust course when reality refuses to conform to our expectations. The principled life is not one that follows predetermined blueprints, but one that remains alert to the irreducible complexity of human need and the ever-changing demands of genuine care.
To live without models is to drift. To live by them uncritically is to be enslaved. Wisdom lies in the middle path: to aspire without illusion, to theorize without tyranny, and to seek the better without forgetting the cost of the best. In this fragile equilibrium lies the noblest promise of human reason—not to control the world, but to understand it more justly, and to live within it more wisely. And in that wisdom, to leave room for the truth that ever escapes us.
The content discusses transforming a prophetic lamentation about the corruption of the American justice system into a biblical framework, relating it to Judeo-Christian themes. It emphasizes the corruption of judges influenced by wealth and oligarchs, using biblical imagery and references to emphasize concerns for justice. The work calls for repentance and restoration while echoing biblical prophetic traditions highlighting the importance of righteousness and divine justice, urging readers to recognize the significant consequences of judicial corruption and its societal ramifications.
Recognizing that most Americans may have a familiarity with Judeo-Christian themes, imagery, and language—but little to no awareness of Mesopotamian themes, imagery, and language—I sought to recast my recent prophetic lamentation on the corruption of Justice, The Temples of Utu, into a biblical framework. By doing so, I aimed to ensure that my lamentation on the corruption of the American justice system, particularly the concern that judges and Justices are being purchased by oligarchs and beholden to faction, would resonate more deeply with contemporary readers.
The work found by scrolling further down, A Prophetic Lamentation: A Biblical Cry for Righteous Judgment, was created by transforming The Temples of Utu: A Contemporary Lament for Justice into a text that more explicitly resonates with the Judeo-Christian tradition. By incorporating biblical references throughout and aligning the themes with scriptural principles, this lamentation follows the prophetic tradition of calling out corruption and pleading for divine justice.
An Audio Reading of Donald S. Yarab’s A Prophetic Lamentation: A Biblical Cry for Righteous Judgment
To aid in understanding the biblical framework underlying this transformation, the following terms and themes are central to the work:
I. Theological Names and Concepts
El Elyon (אֵל עֶלְיוֹן) – A Hebrew name for God meaning “God Most High.” It first appears in Genesis 14:18-20 with Melchizedek, emphasizing God’s supreme authority and sovereignty over all creation.
Adonai (אֲדֹנָי) – A Hebrew term meaning “my Lord,” traditionally used as a substitute for YHWH out of reverence. It signifies God’s absolute authority and dominion.
El Shaddai (אֵל שַׁדַּי) – Typically translated as “God Almighty,” it first appears in Genesis 17:1 when God makes a covenant with Abraham. It highlights God’s power, might, and provision.
Elohim (אֱלֹהִים) – A plural form used singularly for God in the Hebrew Bible, emphasizing divine power and majesty.
Mammon (μαμμωνᾶς) – An Aramaic term used by Jesus in Matthew 6:24 and Luke 16:13, personifying wealth and material possessions as an opposing force to God. In this work, Mammon represents the corrupting influence of material gain and injustice.
II. Historical and Symbolic References
Babylon – The empire that conquered Jerusalem in 586 BC, destroying Solomon’s Temple and exiling many Judeans. In biblical prophecy, Babylon symbolizes oppressive human power and arrogance that defies God (Isaiah 47:1-11; Jeremiah 50-51; Revelation 18).
Egypt – The nation that enslaved Israel before the Exodus. Egypt is often used as a biblical metaphor for oppression, idolatry, and the worldly systems from which God delivers His people (Exodus 20:2; Deuteronomy 4:20; Hosea 11:1).
Assyria – The empire that conquered the Northern Kingdom of Israel in 722 BC. Known for ruthless expansion and forced resettlement, Assyria is depicted as an instrument of God’s judgment but ultimately doomed for its arrogance (Isaiah 10:5-19; Nahum 3).
Tyre – A Phoenician port city known for its wealth and trade dominance. Biblical prophets condemned Tyre for its pride, greed, and economic exploitation (Ezekiel 27-28; Isaiah 23). In this work, Tyre symbolizes commercial corruption and economic injustice.
Mount Sinai – The sacred mountain where Moses received the Law from God (Exodus 19-20). Sinai represents divine revelation, covenant responsibility, and the foundation of justice.
Sodom – The city destroyed for its wickedness and injustice (Genesis 19:24-25). In prophetic literature, Sodom serves as a symbol of moral corruption and a warning of divine judgment (Isaiah 1:9-10; Ezekiel 16:49-50).
III. Prophetic Tradition and Literary Framework
Biblical Lamentation – This work follows the tradition of biblical lament, particularly seen in Lamentations, the Psalms, and prophetic writings. These laments express grief over national corruption and divine judgment (Lamentations 1:1-4; Psalm 137).
Prophetic Literary Forms – The text incorporates multiple prophetic genres, including:
Lawsuit (rîb) – Where God brings charges against His people (Isaiah 1:2-3; Hosea 4:1).
Lament (qînâ) – Mourning the destruction caused by sin and corruption (Jeremiah 9:17-22; Ezekiel 19).
Restoration Promise – Common in prophetic literature, offering hope after judgment (Jeremiah 31:31-34; Isaiah 61:1-3).
Covenantal Framework – Judges in ancient Israel were not merely legal authorities, but covenant mediators tasked with upholding divine law. Their corruption represents a betrayal of that covenant, mirroring Israel’s repeated failure to uphold God’s justice (Deuteronomy 16:18-20; Isaiah 1:21-23).
Justice for the Oppressed – The recurring emphasis on justice for widows, orphans, and foreigners aligns with the core concerns of biblical prophets, such as:
Amos 5:11-12 – Condemning exploitation of the poor.
Micah 6:8 – Calling for justice, mercy, and humility.
Isaiah 10:1-2 – Warning against unjust laws that oppress the vulnerable.
Apocalyptic Elements – The “Day of Reckoning” section reflects apocalyptic themes, seen in:
Joel 2:1-2 – A warning of impending divine judgment.
Daniel 7:9-14 – God’s ultimate triumph over corrupt rulers.
Revelation 18 – The fall of oppressive systems.
IV. Purpose of This Work
By drawing on these biblical themes, historical symbols, and prophetic traditions, A Prophetic Lamentation: A Biblical Cry for Righteous Judgment aims to offer a theologically rich meditation on the corruption of justice. It calls for repentance, righteousness, and restoration, echoing the voices of the biblical prophets who spoke against oppression and warned of impending judgment.
For readers wishing to explore the scriptural foundations of this work, a guide to the work labeled as containing in-text biblical citations is available at the button below. Finally, though many have their favorite bibles, I do not hesitate to recommend for studying the Old Testament, Robert Alter’s The Hebrew Bible: A Translation with Commentary. The scholarship, especially in the footnotes, is unmatched. Another useful online resource is biblehub.com – which allows you access to multiple bible translation traditions.
A Prophetic Lamentation: A Biblical Cry for Righteous Judgment
A Lament for the Perversion of Judgment and the Abandonment of Righteousness
Part I: The Forsaking of Righteousness
The First Turning from Truth
In the days when righteousness stood firm in the land, when the Law of The LORD was a lamp unto the feet of judges, the courts of justice were as sanctuaries where truth dwelled. The judges, servants of El Elyon—The LORD, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the One who brought Israel out of Egypt and wrote His covenant in fire upon Sinai, sat in chambers of cedar and stone, their hands unstained, their judgment righteous. The widow, the orphan, and the foreigner approached without fear, for the Law was written by the finger of Elohim upon tablets of stone, and justice flowed like the waters of Shiloah through the gates of the city.
But in time, whispers arose from the chambers of power. First to one judge, then another. Golden whispers, honeyed promises, from the lips of those who dwelled in palaces of privilege. And some turned their ears to listen.
From the houses of the mighty came messengers bearing gifts wrapped in fine linen, bearing words that concealed their true purpose. And the first judge who accepted such offerings felt the scales within his heart shift, so slightly he did not perceive it. But The LORD perceived it, as He perceived the wickedness of the sons of Eli, whose hands were stained with bribes and whose lips defiled the altar. The LORD, before whom no falsehood can stand, whose eyes search the hearts of men.
Yet the voice of Adonai grew fainter in the halls of judgment, as the mighty pressed their thumbs upon the sacred scales of Moses.
The Widow’s Cause Rejected
When the widow came before the seat of judgment, Her cause was just, her plea righteous. But he who wronged her wore the seal of the rulers, And silver had changed the words of the Law.
The judge spoke with a tongue not his own: “The letter of the Law says thus and thus, Yet its spirit is silenced beneath my tongue.” And so the widow departed in sackcloth.
She lifted her voice in the gates of the city: “Where is Thy justice, O LORD of Hosts? Thy servants speak with deceitful lips, Thy Law is sold for pieces of silver.”
But no thunder came from Mount Sinai, For the judges had stopped their ears with gold.
Part II: The Spreading Abomination
The Choosing of the Corrupt
As the seasons of harvest passed, it came to be that when a judge returned to the dust, those who appointed his successor sought not for wisdom, not for righteousness, not for fear of The LORD. Instead, they sought those who had bowed before the mighty, who had pledged themselves in secret chambers to uphold not the Law as it was given through Moses, but the interests of those who elevated them.
And so the courts of judgment, one by one, were filled with those who had sold their birthright for a bowl of pottage before ever taking the seat of judgment. The words of their oaths remained the same, the ceremonies unchanged, but the fear of El Shaddai had departed from the administration of justice.
Then came the spirit of Mammon, whom Solomon warned against, moving through the corridors of power. Not with swift judgment did he strike, but with slow corruption, a leprosy of the soul that left its victims outwardly clean but inwardly defiled, wearing the robes of righteousness while serving the lords of unrighteousness. And Elohim looked down, as He did in the days of Noah, and beheld that the wickedness of man had multiplied, and that the thoughts of his heart were only evil continually.
The Judgment Purchased with Silver
Behold how they come with scrolls of precedent in hand, Twisting the words of the prophets to serve new masters. The Law speaks what they command it to say, The statutes bend like bulrushes in the wind.
Mammon walks boldly among the pillars of justice, His touch light as silver upon the outstretched palm. Each judgment purchased furthers the transgression, Each verdict for sale defiles the holy sanctuary.
The judges feast at the tables of the merchants of Tyre, The masters of wealth whisper close in their ears: “This cause favors our interests,” they murmur, “This ruling preserves the power we hold dear.”
And the people cry out to the Holy One of Israel, But His face is turned away from His defiled courts.
Part III: The New Order of Iniquity
The Temple Defiled
And so it came to pass that the courts of justice no longer stood as bulwarks against wickedness, but as instruments of those who ruled from behind veils. The judges spoke still of righteousness, wore still the robes of impartiality, but their eyes looked ever to their masters for instruction. Their words were shaped not by the Law of Moses, but by the whispers of corruption.
The scales that once weighed all causes righteously now tipped by design. The light that once revealed truth now cast deceptive shadows. And those who came seeking justice found instead a marketplace where judgments were bought and sold like cattle and grain in the markets of Jerusalem.
The Serpent, who from Eden has twisted the words of Elohim, wound himself around the pillars of judgment like the bronze serpent once lifted in the wilderness. His forked tongue spoke through the mouths of judges, uttering words sweet as honey yet bitter in the belly, verdicts that invoked the sacred Law while rendering it void and without effect.
The Perverted Judgment
The scales of judgment hang crooked now, Weighted with bribes and heavy with deceit. The mantle of justice has become a shroud, Pulled tight by hands that serve the powerful.
The Serpent coils around the judgment seat, His ancient form hidden beneath holy garments. “Justice,” they proclaim, while dealing in oppression, “The Law,” they invoke, while breaking its covenant.
The mighty approach the courts without fear, For they have purchased favor with unrighteous mammon. The poor approach with trembling upon their faces, For they know the sentence before the cause is heard.
So the pillars of justice, hewn by the hands of the faithful, Were carved anew by the chisels of corruption. The covenant of right judgment lay broken upon the steps, As the people watched their inheritance dissolve like morning dew.
Part IV: The Breaking of the Covenant
The Covenant Forsaken
Thus was the covenant between The LORD and His people defiled. Not by the sword of Babylon, nor by the chariots of Egypt, nor by the cunning of the Assyrians, but by the slow poisoning of the wells of justice. As the cycles of seedtime and harvest passed, the people came to know that the courts offered no refuge for the oppressed, that the words of judges held no truth, that judgment measured not righteousness but privilege.
And in this knowing, the foundations of society began to crumble. For what is Law if not covenant? What is justice if not faithfulness? What is order if not the keeping of sacred promises?
The rulers and mighty men who had captured the courts of judgment did not see the doom they had wrought. They feasted upon their victory over righteousness, their conquest of the scales. They did not hear the voice of Adonai, gathering like thunder upon the mountains, as in the days of Sinai, preparing for the day of visitation.
For when justice fails, the whirlwind awaits. When Law becomes a snare rather than a protection, the people cast aside its yoke. When righteousness is no longer honored in the courts, it cries out from the dust like the blood of Abel, calling for vengeance before the throne of El Elyon.
The Harvest of Corruption
Now Jerusalem trembles upon foundations of sand, The courts of judgment stand as whitewashed tombs. What was established through generations of faithfulness, Falls to ruin through seasons of corruption.
The people no longer call upon the name of The LORD in the courts, For His servants have made it bitter on the tongue. They turn instead to other deliverers, darker powers, Gods of vengeance, spirits of retribution.
The rulers sleep uneasy in their chambers, For they have slain the guardian of their peace. In purchasing the Law, they rendered it powerless, In perverting justice, they broke its authority.
And The LORD cried out, as He did through Amos: “But let justice roll down like waters, And righteousness like an ever-flowing stream!” But the stream had dried, the land was parched, and the people drank the wine of oppression instead.
Epilogue: The Prophetic Warning
The Voice of the Remnant
Those who remember, who still hold the Law sacred in their hearts, who recall the days when the courts of judgment shone with uncorrupted light, raise their voices in the wilderness of injustice.
They speak of what was lost, of scales that balanced, of laws that protected the least among the people. They warn of what comes when the rulers believe they have placed themselves beyond the judgment of El Shaddai.
For the LORD watches still, though His servants have forsaken Him. The Holy One of Israel sees still, though His courts have been corrupted. And the day will come when righteousness returns to the gates of the city, when justice again flows like living water.
But the price of restoration will be bitter, paid in the coin of tribulation. For what is defiled cannot be cleansed without fire, as Sodom was overturned in fire and brimstone, and the altars of Baal were cast down in the days of Elijah.
The Day of Reckoning
Remember this in days to come, When the storms of judgment break upon the land, When faction rises against faction in the ruined streets, When the rulers tremble before the dispossessed:
It began with the perversion of judgment, It began with the purchasing of truth. It began when the courts of the LORD Became marketplaces for injustice.
And those who turned their backs on righteousness, Who sold the Law for temporary gain, Who twisted the statutes of the Most High, Will cry out: “How could we have known?”
But their hands are not clean. For they defiled the sanctuary, stone by stone. They corrupted the judges, word by word. They profaned justice, verdict by verdict.
And the LORD shall arise, as He did at Sinai, in fire and storm, As He did at Babylon, with writing upon the wall. Neither silver nor rulers will shield them; They and their wealth shall melt like wax before the flame.
Justice, in any age, is a fragile thing. When upheld, it brings order, clarity, and fairness. When corrupted, it festers unseen at first, then collapses with ruinous consequence. The Temples of Utu: A Contemporary Lamentation for Justice is a prophetic lament cast in the voice and style of an ancient civilization, yet it speaks with painful familiarity to those who observe the world today.
Ningišzida, with snakes emanating from his shoulders, on a relief of Gudea. Photograph by Osama Shukir Muhammed Amin FRCP (Glasg) CC BY-SA 4.0.
This work draws upon the mythic imagery of Mesopotamian religion, invoking gods who, for the people of Sumer and Akkad, embodied cosmic forces—truth and deception, judgment and decay. Though their temples have long crumbled to dust, their symbols remain potent warnings for the rise and fall of justice in human society.
Be aware, however, the Lamentation does not reflect the historic reality of how and where justice was actually dispensed in ancient Mesopotamia. A rudimentary understanding of the justice system, such as we understand it, is discussed in early scholarship, such as Samuel Noah Kramer’s The Summerians: Their History, Culture and Character (1963/1971), for those who are interested in the basics (see for instance pp. 83-88). If truly interested in historical reality, seek out more updated, contemporary scholarship! It will be worthwhile!
Who Are the Gods Named in This Lamentation?
Utu (Shamash): The Mesopotamian god of the sun, justice, and truth. Utu was depicted as the divine judge who saw all things, presiding over oaths and fair dealings. His light illuminated deception, and his scales weighed the hearts of the people. When justice was upheld, his temples shone golden in the sun; when corruption took root, his light dimmed.
Namtar: The herald of death and bringer of plagues, Namtar represents creeping inevitability—the slow, inexorable spread of decay. In this lamentation, he is not an agent of quick destruction, but of corruption’s quiet advance through the halls of justice, spreading like a sickness that hollows out institutions from within.
Ningišzida: A chthonic (underworld) deity associated with serpents, passage between worlds, and the boundary between truth and falsehood. He coils around the pillars of justice, his forked tongue shaping words that once carried fairness into tools of deception. His presence signals the transformation of law into an instrument of the powerful, a mask of legitimacy covering injustice.
Enlil: The great god of storms and divine authority. Though absent for much of the lamentation, his presence gathers at the end, a harbinger of reckoning. If Utu is the impartial light of justice, Enlil is the storm that follows when justice is betrayed.
These figures serve as more than mythological references—they embody timeless realities. The slow erosion of judicial integrity, the rise of factionalism over fairness, the perversion of law into a tool of the mighty—these are not merely the concerns of an ancient civilization but of every society that has ever built temples to justice, and of every people who have watched those temples fall.
As you read (or listen to) The Temples of Utu, consider not only the past, but the world around you. Are the scales of justice still balanced? Or has the light of Utu grown dim once more?
An Reading of Donald S. Yarab’s “The Temples of Utu: “A Lamentation for Justice”
The Temples of Utu: A Lamentation for Justice
Part I: The Silencing of the Scales The First Turning Away
In the days of order, when truth stood firm in the public square and the scales weighed all hearts with equal measure, the temples of Utu shone golden in the light of the sun. The judges, priests of Utu—Utu, whose eye sees all deceptions, whose light banishes shadow—sat in chambers of cedar and stone, their hands unstained, their vision clear. The weak approached without trembling, for the law was etched in tablets that none might alter, and justice flowed like water through the streets of the city.
But in time, whispers came upon the night wind. First to one priest, then another. Golden whispers, honeyed promises, from the lips of those who dwelled in towers of privilege. And some turned their ears to listen.
From the towers of the mighty came emissaries bearing gifts that were not called bribes, bearing words that were not called threats. And the first priest of Utu who accepted such offerings felt the scales within his heart shift, so slightly he did not mark it. But Utu marked it. Utu, whose eye sees all deceptions, whose light banishes shadow.
Yet Utu's voice grew fainter in the halls of judgment, as the mighty pressed their thumbs upon his sacred scales.
The First Injustice
When the widow came before the seat of judgment, Her cause was just, her claim was true. But he who robbed her wore the sigil of the faction, And gold had changed the color of the law.
The priest of Utu spoke with borrowed tongue: "The letter of the tablet says thus and thus, Though its spirit cries otherwise." And so the widow left with empty hands.
She raised her voice to Utu in the square: "Where is thy justice, Lord of Truth? Thy priests speak with forked tongues, Thy scales are weighted with gold."
But no answer came from the heavens, For the priests had muffled Utu's ears with silk.
Part II: The Spreading Corruption The Selecting of the Loyal
As the cycles of the moon passed, it came to be that when a priest of Utu returned to the earth, those who chose his successor looked not for wisdom, not for fairness, not for devotion to the scales of truth. Instead, they sought those who had bowed before the factions, who had pledged themselves in secret chambers to uphold not the law as it was written, but the interests of those who appointed them.
And so the temples of Utu, one by one, were filled with those who had sold their sight before ever taking the seat of judgment. The words remained the same, the rituals unchanged, but the spirit had fled from the body of justice.
Then came Namtar, herald of plagues and divine judgment, moving through the corridors of power. Not with swift death did he strike, but with slow corruption, a disease of the soul that left its victims standing but hollow, wearing the robes of justice while serving the lords of greed.
The Purchased Judgment
See how they come with scrolls of precedent, Twisting ancient words to serve new masters. The tablet says what they wish it to say, The law bends like reeds in the wind.
Namtar walks among the pillars of justice, His touch light as coin upon the palm. Each judgment purchased furthers the contagion, Each verdict for sale spreads the plague.
The merchants of discord dine at the judges' tables, The priests of faction whisper in their ears. "This cause favors our patrons," they murmur, "This ruling advances our creed."
And the people cry out to Shamash, to Utu, But the god of justice has turned his face away.
Part III: The New Order of the Scales The Temples Transformed
And so it came to pass that the temples of Utu no longer stood as bulwarks against chaos, but as instruments of those who ruled from shadow. The priests spoke still of justice, wore still the robes of impartiality, but their eyes looked ever to their masters for guidance. Their words were shaped not by the tablets of law, but by the whispers of faction.
The scales that once weighed all hearts equally now tipped by design. The light that once revealed truth now cast strategic shadows. And those who came seeking justice found instead a marketplace where outcomes were traded like cloth and grain in the bazaar.
Ningišzida, serpent god of the underworld who knows the passage between life and death, between truth and falsehood, wound himself around the pillars of the temple. His forked tongue spoke through the mouths of judges, words that seemed just but served injustice, verdicts that spoke of law while mocking its purpose.
And the people learned that there were two laws in the land: one for the mighty, another for the meek.
The Twisted Scales
The scales of Utu hang crooked now, Weighted with bribes and heavy with deceit. The blindfold of justice has become a hood, Pulled tight by hands that serve the powerful.
Ningišzida coils around the judgment seat, His serpent form hidden beneath official robes. "Justice," they proclaim, while dealing in its absence, "The law," they intone, while breaking its heart.
The mighty approach the temple without fear, For they have purchased indulgence in advance. The weak approach with dread upon their faces, For they know the verdict before the case is heard.
The tablets of law remain upon the wall, But the words change meaning at the touch of gold.
Part IV: The Unraveling The Breaking of the Covenant
Thus was the covenant between the people and the law undone. Not by decree, not by conquest, but by the slow poisoning of the wells of justice. As the cycles of the sun passed, the people came to know that the temples of Utu offered no sanctuary, that the words of his priests held no truth, that the scales of judgment measured not justice but advantage.
And in this knowing, the bindings of society began to fray. For what is law if not promise? What is justice if not trust? What is order if not the belief that truth will prevail against falsehood?
The factions that had captured the temples of Utu did not see the doom they had wrought. They celebrated their victory over impartiality, their conquest of the scales. They did not hear the whispers of Enlil, god of wind and storm, gathering his breath for the tempest to come.
For when justice fails, chaos awakens. When law becomes weapon rather than shield, the people take up arms of their own. When truth is no longer honored in the temples, it finds voice in the streets.
The Price of Betrayal
Now the city trembles on foundations of sand, The temples of justice stand as hollow shells. What was built through centuries of wisdom, Falls to ruin through seasons of corruption.
The people no longer speak the name of Utu, For his priests have made it bitter on the tongue. They turn instead to other gods, darker gods, Gods of vengeance, gods of fire.
The mighty sleep uneasy in their beds, For they have slain the guardian of their peace. In purchasing the law, they rendered it worthless, In bending justice, they broke its spine.
And Enlil gathers the winds of retribution, For no society stands when its pillars are rotten.
Epilogue: The Warning The Voice of Memory
Those who remember, who still hold truth sacred in their hearts, who recall the days when the temples of Utu shone with uncorrupted light, raise their voices in the twilight of justice. They speak of what was lost, of scales that balanced, of laws that served all equally. They warn of what comes when the mighty believe they have placed themselves beyond judgment.
For Utu watches still, though his priests have forsaken him. Shamash sees still, though his temples have been corrupted. And the day will come when light returns to the chambers of darkness, when truth again flows through the veins of justice.
But the price of restoration will be bitter, paid in the coin of upheaval. For what is corrupted cannot be cleansed without fire.
The Future Reckoning
Remember this in days to come, When the storms of chaos break upon the land, When faction fights faction in the ruined streets, When the mighty tremble before the dispossessed:
It began with the silencing of the scales, It began with the purchasing of truth. It began when the temples of Utu Became marketplaces for injustice.
And those who turned their backs on truth, Who sold the scales for temporary gain, Who twisted the tablets of sacred law, Will cry out: "How could we have known?"
But their hands are not clean. For they desecrated the temples, stone by stone. They corrupted the judges, word by word. They unmade justice, verdict by verdict.
And when Utu returns to claim his throne, Neither gold nor faction will shield them from his light.
The Shattered Eagle is a poignant examination of constitutional crisis and democratic decay in modern America. Through vivid imagery and elegiac tone, it traces the symbolic fall of the American Republic, using the eagle as a metaphor for a nation once soaring with purpose but now battered by corruption, authoritarianism, and civic erosion. This meditation on institutional collapse examines the deterioration of checks and balances, the rise of illiberal power, and the fraying of democratic norms.
Themes and Significance
The poem critiques the erosion of constitutional democracy, judicial independence, and legislative integrity. It reflects on how demagoguery, partisan dysfunction, and the corruption of public institutions have undermined democratic ideals and the rule of law. Through its exploration of societal polarization and institutional decay, it captures the zeitgeist of a republic in crisis.
Yet amid constitutional peril and democratic backsliding, the poem poses a crucial question about renewal. Its final stanzas challenge readers to consider whether civic restoration is possible through recommitment to democratic principles and constitutional values.
A Poem for Our Times
Rich in metaphor and steeped in political philosophy, The Shattered Eagle invites readers to confront the realities of democratic erosion while contemplating paths to institutional renewal. Drawing on the tradition of great political poetry like Yeats’s The Second Coming and Auden’s September 1, 1939, this work speaks to the universal struggle to preserve constitutional democracy and the rule of law in an age of mounting illiberalism.
The Shattered Eagle
Once soared an eagle, wings outspread, Its cry a clarion, freedom bred. From gilded heights, it carved the skies, Its dreams a nation dared to rise.
Yet winds of discord tore its plume, Ambition’s torch became its tomb. The golden thread of union frayed, As shadows deepened, hope decayed.
Where laws were forged by reason’s might, Now darkness shrouds their guiding light. Once sworn to serve the commonweal, They sold their oaths for power’s appeal.
The halls once rang with measured voice, Where reason swayed the public choice. Yet now the chambers echo lies, As honeyed tongues weave thin disguise.
No laws they craft, but favors they sell, To oligarchs who cast their spell. Once stewards strong, they now kneel low, To serve a leader’s fleeting glow.
The scales of justice, firm and true, Now tilt, corrupted, favoring the few. Once blind, now stained with partisan hue, They take their bribes in plainest view.
No fealty now to law's command, But whispers guide the justices’ hand. From lofty heights, the court descends, A tool for power, not amends.
The eagle's perch, the people's trust, Now yields to one with tyrannous lust. The laurels fall, the wreath departs, A crown is forged for lawless hearts.
No equal here, a king ascends, While truth dissolves and honor bends. The oath betrayed, the power abused, A throne of lies by fear infused.
The wheels once turned to serve the land, Now falter at one man’s command. Where duty reigned with steady hand, Now chaos thrives and rot expands.
The gears once turned with steady grace, Impartial hands for every case. Now oiled with fear, the cogs obey, A sovereign’s whims, the people's dismay.
No law to guide, no truth to bind, The constitution lies maligned. The servants sworn to guard the land Now yield to lash at one command.
Ideals once held as shining beacons, Now crumble ‘neath the weight of treasons. Their lofty light, now dimmed and lost, Is bartered for ambition’s cost.
The shining hill, a beacon high, Now shrouded 'neath a darkened sky. Its lofty dreams by greed betrayed, By hands of those whose hearts decayed.
No vision guides, no ideals inspire, But petty aims and base desire. The noble pact, to truth once sworn, Now trampled, tattered, and forlorn.
A fractured land, a shattered will, Where hatred reigns and hearts grow still. What union stood now falls apart, Its seams undone by poisoned hearts.
The land now split by faction’s line, Where rancor festers, hopes decline. The brother turns on brother’s hand, And hatred scorches all the land.
No union binds, no concord stays, But discord reigns in endless days. Society rent, uncivil, torn, A weary people, broken, worn.
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A weary people, broken, worn, Where shadows fall and freedoms mourn. Yet seeds may bloom, if hearts remain, Resolved to rise through toil and pain.