In a world with broken laws.
And a Constitution full of flaws.
Where any who stand up would be heard are put be walls.
With an invincible brace locked upon their jaws.
As we sit speechless.
As the rules are bent to awkward angles.
Grasped by fears choke hold!
So hard it strangles.
As the last air of hope is whisked away in the breeze.
And our people fall to their knees.
Where is knees.

Where is the Justice?
For the poor and misfortune.
The big, the small, and the oddly proportioned.
With no light in a darkened world of sin.
I turn to the power of the pad and pen.
To Release!
The binding hold of the beast!
And bring upon this barren land peace.
Slaying doubt and hatred with rhymes and metaphors.
The period of each line hard and black like the eyes of an nocturnal predator.

With every word I bring back the balance once lost.
Unthawing the frigid frost.
Slowly guiding back the lost.
And bringing tranquility with my penmanship ability.
As the pen glides on the paper with acrobatic agility.
Freeing the mind of the trapped from its dark facility.

They say the pen is mightier than the sword.
But to me it is the outlet for the voice of the ignored.
Giving back the power that belongs to us.
No longer is it just us.
Because now we have the most potent form of power.
Poetic Justice.