Widowed Justice...

i,
demand justice
says the widow to the people
who mourn for her
the flowers wilted and
the niche is buried deep
down six feet
under, like a movie of sorts,
the people left her, alone,
headless, veils black and
hairs spangled, like worms
like she is the rotten body
now bare bones
inside her room, sleepless
till dawn

there is no justice, time
is narrow like a door that admits
no one, like a window closed
against any air of
possibilities

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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