What is Just?

Justice:

An adequate name for an indecent purpose.

You pretend to know the atmosphere

But you glide on pretentious momentum

Where the truth is blurred by fear.

 

Absent:

An imperfect glance or an undefined thought.

I weighed against the epic proportion of your mind

And hid beneath the wing of your wisdom;

I could follow its trail.

 

Freedom:

Like we do when we used to.

A picking bale of intrusive impulsion

Drafted in a cove of insidious jewels

And broken promises

 

Cutting:

Your weight around like it has something to say.

A million lengths, and at the hock,

It wouldn’t move you

And yet I protest,

 When an eager question beckons the quell inside you

I will retort and then ask you again

What of life?

What of touching?

What of fingers to lips?

 

Like Romeo to Juliet,

Have we none of those?

Are we just as incapable and complex as the Sun?

Where we are not life,

Not death,

But everything

And nothing?

 

An inescapable void of exclusion

Wrought to impale itself against the tide of an empty emotion…