This sonnet addresses the corruption within the judiciary, where justice is often sold to the wealthy.
The gown is black, the gavel strikes the air,
But justice has a price that few can pay.
The scale is tipped by gold beyond compare,
And truth is bartered in the light of day.
"My Lord," they whisper, "tell me where to drop,"
The heavy bag that buys a soft decree.
The law’s a vulture that will never stop,
Until the rich are from their crimes set free.
The "last hope of the common man" is sold,
Its bricks are broken and its pillars rot.
The story of the innocent is told
In cells where those without the cash are caught.
A temple built for right now serves the wrong,
Where only those with silver are the strong.
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