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
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