Justice Is for Children

Or, another poem written from the bed.

They told us as children

the world was fair —

that truth would triumph,

that good would rise,

that wrong would pay its price.

But grown-ups know

justice is for children —

a bedtime story

stitched into lullabies

to hush small hearts

and keep them dreaming.

Out here,

in offices, corridors,

managed conversations,

truth limps barefoot

across floors slick with fear,

while power drapes itself

in gentle words

and careful distance.

But silence is a luxury

I can’t afford.

I might be grown —

but I don’t hold my tongue.

I speak,

because even if justice

was written for children,

truth still belongs to me.

(No justice, no peace).