An American Mystagogue

The Balm Fails


Candle in church


(Inspired by readings on antibiotic resistant microbes)

The Balm Fails 

By: Seth Moris

I stepped into the chamber of the healer, one bare
foot stepping hesitantly upon the cool stone floor,
and then another.

The guardian of the temple grunted at me from the
doorway to proceed. Clothed in my threadbare
‘observation’ robes, I felt naked.

I walked forward until I reached the laying-table.
The sores covering my body felt like a blaze, red
And seeping, pulsating against the chill.

The healer entered the room, as if whisked by devils
And he took one glance at the sores, quickly consulted
The holy book of healing, and scribbled glyphs.

“You will have to use the Sacred Balm” The Healer croaked
The Sacred Balm. They say it is of the gods own tears.
But we have lost the gods favors, all know the balm fails now.

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