A Poem
Who is Lady Justice?
With her strong stance and steady glare.
Does she hear me calling out,
Asking whether she really even cares?
What is law, anyways?
A question for the ages.
As old as time, yet remains unanswered,
Even though she is debated and squashed in never ending mazes.
Maybe law is a thing?
Or better yet; a person, maybe places?
Is law all of the above, a Trickster or Shapeshifter,
Writing whatever words the pen holder traces?
Is law a being?
Perhaps she is a wolf with yellow eyes,
Teeth bared and ready to tear you limb from limb
Destroying you to give a piece of her mind.
Is law then a He?
A Tudor without his rose?
A man swollen with envy, his French axe sharpened and ready
To take you down should you need to be disposed.
I dream to see law as a grandmother;
Loving, tender and caring.
Able to wipe the tears from your eyes
And tell you stories your ancestors wrote for sharing.
Some say law is living –
A tree with roots strong and ever growing.
The leaves going from green to brown to yellow,
Parts of old mixed in with the new life that’s always showing.
But can a tree really grow
When so many insist on watering?
Its roots trampled and soiled, rotted and ruined
The hand holding the watering can nothing more than faltering?
Isn’t justice no more than a dead lover,
Buried and gone at the back of your mind?
Awake only in agony, never relevant to your changing life,
Like Odysseus choosing to remain blind?
Blind to the truth around him,
Crafting lies and stories to tell
So that when judgement day comes to do away with him,
He can claim his honour never fell.
I fail to see her, him, they
For anything more than a figment of the mind.
Crafted by the devilish souls who mean no more than to say,
“No, sir, you may not have more than we designed.”
Lady Justice, therefore, cannot be real.
Neither Gods, reform, or “don’t worry, you can trust us!”
They say to the girls and boys stolen from their beds,
Guns to the head so they don’t put up a fuss.
Because it was law who took Adam and Daanis,
Who told mom and dad it was for the best.
Who held scissors to their yearly 5 dollar bills,
Threatening to cut it, just like the rest.
Like the hairs on their heads,
The trees once in the ground,
The innocence stripped from their beds,
And the dignity in the world left to be found.
Found for law
And for land, peace, justice and all beings.
Not to mention sovereignty and discovery, oh! we mustn’t forget,
“I was simply doing the right thing.”
And those set on calling it something so powerful
That even Athena herself would bow.
She would submit to its will and bend a knee,
Just in awe of the ship’s painted prow.
Painted not for her or her people,
But for the man in white
Dressed in a suit made for filling deep pockets.
A suit made to fit only him just right.
So, what is law then, I ask you?
Who is she, he, they?
Those that mask their face in humanity and democracy
While actually keeping true laws at bay.
To me, law is something for the rich.
The elite who sit comfortably, studying every detail
In order to make it all fixed and proper,
So that their plans can never fail.
The rest of us,
We chase after her as if stuck in a lust-filled dream.
Hoping to one day catch her,
And hope to make her more than she ever seems.