Hear the banging of the wood on wood deciding a life,
a living,
or is it just voicing the path of righteousness or re-offending to be
undertaken in a month, a year, a millennium?
chosen by the twelve nobodies or are they
somebodies
high up on twelve pedestals,
THE WORLD
they've seen it all yet don't know how to look,
a future rests in
cupped grimy hands.
I can tell how much thought you put into what you wanted the reader to think...NOT. love you A x
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Is it about the prepondance of evidence, or simply a whim? Precarious is the path of the accused! Thought provoking effort my friend. Thanks.