The Irony

people who look at me as dispenser of justice
do not know, that i am a victim of injustice myself.

as i wear the black robe, i too, hide within this cloth
my own suffering from the political system that swears that

everything is owned, one must have a master,
that in this small stage, they try to make marionettes

out of our broken bones, their hands are there manipulating the strings
and those who do not follow, who do not dance shall be severely
punished

i keep this irony, i close my mouth and then i bang the gavel
hard, i give you justice, no one gives me the same.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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