
Justice never seems to get carried out,
Even in moments where things seem clear.
Heaven knows this has been proven true,
Agonizingly so, in the annals of history.
Nothing new to say—we pass up vision,
Nix wisdom over silly details like age.
Eventually, folly is less forgiving.
Liberators used before discarded—
Annihilation of the voice we called for.
Peasants are no less than kings,
Underestimated as they may be.
Commissions become excommunications,
Elephant stampede hidden in plain sight of site,
Let us get what we want, praise then parse;
Let us send the lamb to its slaughter.
Eventually, we might see this is wrong.
POET’S NOTE:
An acrostic Scorched Sunday poem. Part of my Scorched Strays collection. History is filled with people called upon when courage is needed, then condemned when conviction becomes inconvenient. This piece reflects on one such stray.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.



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