Reeks
Like a game of thrones.
It throws the innocent from the turret
A witness to incest and lies.
And then cries like a crocodile.
Tears washed in blood and bile.
…
We crown the cruel with laurel—smile,
And dress their damage up as style;
We pay in praise for practiced guile,
And call the bruising all ‘worthwhile.’
We stack up perks in a shining pile,
While quiet decency lives in exile;
Then scold the ones who name it vile—
As if the truth should stand on trial.
...
So let it stink this tilted scale,
Till justice learns its tone.
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