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The Trials with Law

Galloping victory rides on the lane
saddling the back of all that is fair.
The free light of birds begins to wane
as they flock through reality of slippery air,
which dumbfounds the flight, quickly to impair
intelligent search for the unfolded plane.
A bird and a horse could gradually mingle
if justice could serve the victims of law.
But slaves of the courtyards place high a shingle
to hide all the freedom the witnesses saw.
Slaves mentally chew eating innocence raw,
for they married the wrong, and corrupt, are single.
Like the core of a fruit, once soft, and sweet,
the rot of a judge impregnate the breed
of the bites that his teeth had whipped, had beat
to weaken the strength of the powerful steed
and the small imperfections grown in the seed.
But the horse could withstand the blood on his feet.
The bird was so little—it could not survive
the verbal assault, which the judge executed,
convicting the wings, that in flight, were alive.
And the air shone with black—darkly polluted
by venomous snake, that with death, rooted
its body in freedom’s chance to revive.
The purpose of law has turned its reverse
on the frailty dressing its strict code of rules.
It contracted an illness to pen it as perverse,
resulting in architecture lacking the tools
needed to chip off the base of the fools
to paddle this group, for guilt to submerse.
Why must the bird be caged in the skies
when the horse was alone in liberty to run,
when its purpose was to race before many eyes?
In truth, the opposites of fairness has won
flight lanes on the side of the bird with no sun—
for justice is prejudice, judgmental lies.

2 May 07

(define the words in this poem)

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