Tune Of Justice Poem by Eve Walker

Today is here, as we’re known to gather
most unknown… hear the blather?
But now it comes, bravado gone
in stake
as crystal eyes, shine like lakes.

Carpenter’s hands,
shackled to feet.
Thoughts unknown.
Thoughts of meat.

Down in front,
all mourn and cry.
With expressions as though,
he's told no lie.

The hangman comes
to shake his hand,
as though a playmate
that can’t break his band.

Cloth goes over,
he’s dropped so near,
and though the sound,
is one we can’t hear.

The cloth gathers close,
and we sit so near...
but to those who witness
what is sickening, it would appear:

That fiends of human
& hypocrites of the law,
are those who opposed
yet pull the bar.

These are the passings
of lines
we cannot draw.
But to those who it matters,
all cannot saw to a close...

Spinning lifeless,
No shape.
No Hurst.
Instead it’s only intended
to hang in morning’s wake
but not that it matters…
nothing be at stake.



And there it comes,
from the seats of quality, above…
As does not prevail,
humanity’s etiquette
feeling no shame.
As it may ring out...
with nothing but blame
to the sour tune of:

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