Facades of Justice

3-piece suits,
addicts of duplicity,
padded cells of inner prisons,
bang body against soul,
while eyeballing clock and gavel.

Countdowns continue.

Twists and turns of wagging tongues
fill the air with mendacious words,
urging time for strategy’s lock picking tools,

Legal costumes become home to perspiring guilt,
unshackled hands of madness rest sweaty palms
on briefs and declarations stacked like an arsenal
or spears and arrows pointed at an enemy…
the enemy…
any enemy.

As the world’s juries slump into lethargy,
Lady Justice,
her sword profaned,
her scales languishing,
silently weeps for the mutating of right and wrong,
while man’s moral compass spins out of control,
a true north of principals nowhere in sight.