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
Copyright © Piers Denholm-Young | Year Posted 2016
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