Who Raise a Fist

From where we stand like grains of sand or shooting sparks that cool and die so far short of the starlit sky who raise a fist and still insist on justice for the suffering ‘If this is love it is perverse’ ‘If this is good then what is worse?’ The helpless die in pain unknown it is not right this awful curse Yet what if justice had no grace and every felon paid full price? Am I corrupt? Can poisoned eyes judge anything, be truly wise? What is the consequence of lies? And if we make the night our home then how is light the one to blame? Shed arc-light now upon my innocence and I shall see the hideous stains If I am made with evil sentience then I must turn, or reap a field of pain. 10.00