Blind Justice
L Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Nothing is there,
Anyone could possibly say.
To defend an act,
Meant to intend it.
Shown clearly.
Visibly to see.
Broadcasted repeatedly,
From every angle of it.
On national TV.
Not a word to utter,
Can be said.
Or a forgiveness given.
To one with a lowered head.
And tears flowing from eyes.
That would disguise an oasis,
On the sand dunes...
Of the Sahara Desert.
To remove such,
An intended infliction meant.
Miraging it away.
Many live these days,
Believing excuses used...
To make.
Should be appropriate enough,
To pass the acceptance test.
'Your Honor?
Members of the jury.
Friends, relatives.
And pets of the victims.
I appear before you,
With a burdened heart.
Filled with anguish,
And the deepest...
Of unborrowed sorrow.
When...I...pulled...my...weapon,
From its snapped closed...
Holster.
I believed it to be,
A pad and pen.
To write a warning.
A citation.'
'When you are done,
With that box of tissue.
Please pass it to me.'
'Sure...of course...
Who are you? '
'I am here,
To defend the integrity...
And credibility,
Of my 'victimized' clients.
My name...
Blind Justice.
Although my associates,
Refer to me as 'Maligned'! '
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