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The cycle of the law-enforcer

Leslie Nii Tete Annan Avatar  Send Soup Mail  Block poet from commenting on your poetry

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The cycle of the law-enforcer

At puberty, he came in contact with the law. 
In every aspect of his life, it was the core. 
His freedom was now a cheap ore; 
Suddenly shrinking his daftest paw, 
Hurling him high and back to the floor. 
All he did in his nature had a flaw. 
“What’s this they call the Law?” 
If it’s against him it called for War. 
He’d cut it in the middle with a saw.
Now he’s old, frail, so his strength would thaw. 
And even if in all things, there’s the law. 
His nature was refined, conforming and not raw. 
So he worships the law with wary awe.
Since, at the end, it sprouted power to him from the gore. 
And even gives him peace, respect and more. 
He loved it all, the law and its flaw. 
Give them to him, and he’d lock the door, 
Keep it to himself till he became the law.
Now the very epitome of the law, 
All who stand against him under he’ll plough. 
He’s the law. 
Take it or leave it, he's the law.

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