Poetry by
Michael
March 10, 1997 |
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Jackals Of Justice |
justice, some say, is a dead thing,
crippled and weak,
like a decrepit old man without his canes.
justice, some say, now lies in muddied gutters,
forlorn and weeping and drowning in refuse,
with a garrote tight about its throat.
but i say nay.
justice is strong.
justice will find you,
and when it does, remember this:
it has teeth. |
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