Misguided Sense of Justice

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