In the Famine of Justice

IN THE FAMINE OF JUSTICE Besieged with wrenching pangs of hunger, bloating a belly of despair, I painfully called out to my mother—justice—cold just- ice. With a Mona Lisa smile and covered eyes, she revealed her prune-like sagging breast, the closed the door of the pantry of mercy, and walked away, leaving my lingering hungry— There is not a day I do not trace the trail she left behind—not a morsel can I find. The tongue of the freedom bell no longer speaks. My ears grow weary; worthless words echo mere memories. But be beholding my children. Be not dismayed; for hope unborn is not dead; nor is its audacious spirit. Justice may have walked gently into the night, searching—Tomorrow, the perfect storm of resurrection shall fill her sails, balance her scales, and rip the blindfold from her eyes; and she shall awake from the ravaging nightmare of injustice and rain down liberating righteousness.