In chambers cloaked in shadows deep, 

Where whispers weave through gilded halls, 

The law, a mantle, thin and steep,

Enfolds the few while silence falls.

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Beneath the marble’s cold embrace, 

The common man is but a ghost, 

His pleas dissolve in time and space, 

A fleeting wisp, a fleeting boast. 

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For in the tomes where statutes lie, 

The ink is steeped in privilege’s hue, 

To shield the hands that reach the sky, 

While binding chains on me and you. 

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The scales, once balanced, now betray, 

A symmetry of power’s game, 

Where justice wears a mask of gray, 

And equity is but a name. 

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The courtiers dance, the judges nod, 

In banquet halls of wealth and pride, 

While those outside, with hope, still plod, 

Their fates entwined, yet cast aside. 

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Oh, let the gavel strike in vain, 

For truth is lost in wealth’s embrace, 

A fortress built on others’ pain, 

A bastion of the privileged race. 

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Yet still, the heart of many beats, 

In shadows cast by gilded beams, 

Awake, they rise, with steady feats, 

To claim the law, to claim their dreams. 

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For though the law may serve the throne, 

Its roots are sown in common ground, 

And from the ashes, voices grown, 

Shall challenge chains that long abound. 

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So let us stand, with courage bold, 

For justice, though it wears a shroud, 

Is more than power’s tale retold— 

It is the hope of every crowd.

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Reposted with permission from BlakandBlack.com