I weigh the hearts, yet have no scale, my feather judges, never fails. Beside the jackal, I stand serene, a goddess cloaked in justice supreme.

Researchers looking for a cure discovered humanity’s future, And after giving medicinal uses a try, came fire and sparks that rose up high. Though many saw beauty in colored flame, it was ensuing violence that gave this its name.

A sigil of a victory, I make commitments true. A sign my form is starting to fail is when the air is blue. Collected by many, and cherished dear, To form their personal hoards, You may have met me by land of green hills, Or a novel about my lord.

Humbly invented in nineteen sixty five, i was created to keep football players alive. Named after a creature so mean and green. What am I?

I speak in tongues of ancient stone, Of Cyclopean towers overthrown, My thoughts are eldritch, cold, and deep, Where nameless horrors writhe and creep. In queer geometries minds are lost, And blasphemous truths exact their cost.