They ascend to judgment
on stilts of sycophancy,
kissing the ass of former masters,
pulling strings through relatives,
through the mafia of judge-less judges—
a puppet show of morality.
They sit atop their thrones of clay,
gavels in hand, scepters of smoke,
yet they are only one-eyed jacks,
cards shuffled in the deck of sway.
One eye closed, the other blind,
never counting the other half,
never seeing the mirror that reflects truth,
never hearing the heartbeat
of what they cannot feel.
The courtrooms echo with their laughter,
a circus of nods, whispers, rattling chains.
The scales of justice tip like carnival rides,
each spin rigged, each tilt deliberate,
and we—spectators of this absurd pageant—
watch the moral clay deform
under hands that cannot see,
cannot feel,
cannot know.
The sway!
The sway!
The swing of judgment blindfolded,
the pendulum of authority
crashes endlessly
against walls built from fear, nepotism,
and the slow rot of conscience.
We watch.
We watch them twist the clay.
We watch them fail.
We watch.
One-eyed jacks.
One-eye blind.
One-eye deaf.
One-eye gone.
