A Presidents Pardons Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The rules were clear, a guiding light,
But pardons bent, in day and night.
Ninety-six percent, a blurry haze,
Did not fit law, in twisted ways.

This isn't right, it smells so foul,
A whisper grows, a wicked howl.
Corruption's hand, it reaches deep,
While fairness sleeps, and justice weeps.

A voice arose, from inside the walls,
'This isn't justice, ' she clearly calls.
'This is corruption, ' she declared so true,
An orgy of it, for me and you.

For money talks, and access gleams,
Awakening old, corrupting dreams.
A crypto feast, a wealthy few,
With dollars spent, their tables grew.

Around the fire, the deals are made,
While honest folk, are left afraid.
The pardon power, so strong and grand,
Now tainted, by a grasping hand.