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Poem

Tall poplars whisper gently in the wind
Autumn rain taps on the sidewalk
In dense air there is feeling of melancholy
Eerie visage of the moon will soon appear to cast shadow on the grave

There is fresh grass on every grave but one
The one which belongs to a man
Accused of some crime
And sentenced to death

His innocence he claimed to the end
And promised that
No grass will grow for period of time on his grave 
And creator his soul will save

Indeed no grass grew 
For the period of time man said
After that it grew in the shape of a cross
Seems the man was telling the truth

However even if justice is wrong sometimes
One has to punish crimes 
But what of the brokenhearted 
Of wrongfully accused

And who is to say what is wrong or right
We all consider wrong who ever disagrees with us
And how is one to believe in justice if one is subjected to its lack
Of course he will fight

If that person turns to darkness
Or simply does what he believes is right in his own soul
And the fact is there is no true justice
For everyone’s version of it is in his or her own soul

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