Swift Arc Of Justice Poem by Michael Brosky

Where is that window I can stare through, where no one will stare back?
Where is that light I can dwell by where the crows will not descend?
As I turn over stones and reel in disgust,
I try to remember my name
I try to remember what is right
I try to keep my feelings tame
I try to withhold the might
But when the swift arc of justice
Misses its mark, I want to swing my fist
I want to lose the words

I see children and saints dance on a cigarette
And it is true, that fire is pure
I see children and saints breathe in
Their words noxious and bent to slay
I see secret, black rooms, lying in wait
Filled with wicked paints of intent
I see the swift arc of justice
In the hands of heretics
So we slice at every branch
So we pile up the sticks
So we lash with sparking deeds
Until the smoke fills the lands
Until it slithers in the weeds

Where is that smile that can softly be given and not hurl back as a bite?
Where is that hand that can hold the needy and not return a blistered touch?
As I wait for the wheel to come around,
I try to believe there are ends
I try to make worth of the path
I try to remember light bends
I seek the good aftermath
But when the swift arc of justice
Glances with rust, I want a swinging rope
I want bloodworms drunk and full

I see loved one after loved one
Fall through the rotted floor
And the termites never fall
I see loved one after loved one
Abused in every single way
I see devils gorged on wings
With never so much as a price to pay
I see the swift arc of justice
Swung by incompetents
So they slice at every heart
So they jeer with mocking charts
So they vaporize the faith
Until we are right back to the start
Until our reasons seem a waste