In the back room stood an altar in the dark
where good men weighed the cost of what they made;
they bartered one another part by part
and called the bargain work, the loss a trade.
It passed as work at first: a daily run,
a language shaped to hours, sums, and need.
Good men replaced good men, and one by one,
their names reduced to figures on a sheet.
One day they chose a righteous man instead
and named the choice expedient, not base.
In time, the work required a hand that bled;
the careful men learned execution’s face.
From then on, meetings logged the downward turn;
their words were sealed like prayers, then left to burn.