Eyes stare accusingly,

Varying purple and blue,

From the shadows of those wings

That cloak them.

The Council judge.

Immortal, but not divine.

They wait, for the signal

To cast down their decision.

I can only linger

At the back of the vaulted hall.

I can influence them

No longer, not now.

Her tears run freely,

Whisper down her face.

Silent watchers, remorseless,

Care only for her crime.

They accuse harshly,

Prejudiced, as she

Flies with us no more,

Has become mortal-bound.

Silently, those gathered still wait.

Ruthless, coolly assessing.

No doubt about her guilt.

No care for her fate.

Then, a light shines bright,

A globe upon the dais glows.

A hum of anticipation,

From the amassed ranks.

She shies from her guards.

The globe turns red.

Her axe has fallen.

They have claimed 'guilty'.

I turn my face away,

Hide within the hood of my cloak.

I do not want to see her go,

She was innocent.

They would not have listened,

Not to me.

For who am I to judge them?

I am no guardian angel.