A Tyrant

finds ease in cutting corners difficulty in shedding light in the dark such a mortal’s combat is just he thinks no evils lurk in capacity from heights beyond notice because capacity is the just he persuades the sky screeches the ground bellows cries flat line and streams of pain mark the surface for the wondering the mortal calls it justice and for the unjust who finds ease on a mere strip who sheds light in the midst of havoc is a such a mortal’s combat not just? one would think can evil find shelter in this capacity or call home stolen property simply because is unpersuasive and when the sky whispers again and the ground whimpers laughter will fill the air tears of joy will mark a blemished surface for the wondering such mortal calls this hope