the air reeks of stale coffee and ink-stamped lies,
judges sit like smug kings,
smirking over lives they'll never live,
dismissing truth with a gavel's cough.
innocent men shuffle like cattle,
faces drawn, hands calloused from the grind—
plead guilty or rot waiting.
'justice, ' they call it,
while the lawyers get fat off their despair.
the court stenographer types it all up,
the lies, the twisted logic,
and the perjury sworn like gospel
under a fluorescent crucifix.
if you or I did what they do,
we'd be cuffed and carted off,
but they wear robes like armor,
cloaked in immunity,
proud in their manipulation,
gods of small, dirty kingdoms.
good men shrink in fear,
their courage ground down
by the grinding stone of this machine—
truth doesn't pay,
honor doesn't sell,
and doing the right thing
is the fastest way to lose.
Hillsborough,
where the guilty are freed
and the innocent are crushed,
where justice is just another game
rigged from the start,
Callused, without a true heart.
Categories:
hillsborough, 12th grade,
Form: Free verse
96 fans awoke that day
travelled to Sheffield to see their heroes play
96 had tickets for Leppings Lane
96 never returned home again
96 people packed in, gasping for breath
praying for life enduring death
96 names etched on a memorial plaque,
next to an eternal flame
96 lives lost watching the beautiful game
96 families reduced to tears
still fighting for justice after all these years
96 souls not left in peace yet
96 reasons to never forget
Categories:
hillsborough, football,
Form: Free verse