"Justice" by Storm ´Shadow´ Blakley

Justice

Upon a spit of windswept stone

A gnarled old man does stand alone

Blind, Deaf, struck Dumb.

Upon a weathered staff he leans,

Hears not but feels the wind that keens,

A bitter cold mountain wind.

The angry gusts do now confuse him,

His Light of Faith slowly grows dim,

As he realizes his cruel plight.

By protégé, student, he was here led,

The weary road bowed his hoary head,

Till hand ledt his arm and was gone.

So now he stands on mountain high,

Staring ahead, he can do naught but sigh,

For he knows his doom is nigh.

His wisdom, judgments no longer are heard,

The Courts of Men do twist his Word,

The Scales are unbalanced.

Enforcing Arm now twisted strong,

The Bar cares not for right or wrong,

Corruption free, for now he’s gone.

And is this not the cruelest blow,

Old man abandoned midst blowing snow,

Quietly sits down.