by Nick Gisburne
A thousand worlds were locked in holy war
When Pontifus inherited the throne.
He questioned why crusades were such a bore,
Reflecting on his reasoning alone.
“I have the means to finish in a day
What fifty generations have prolonged.
I wonder what their emperors would say
To see me right forever what they wronged.”
Escorted to the Ministry of Death,
Impatient to present his perfect plan,
A hundred clerics took a startled breath,
Expressing disapproval, to a man.
“Although the people long for peace, it’s true,
Without a war whatever would they do?”
