by Nick Gisburne
I climb the crimson wall to claim a seat
To see the children driven through the town
The jagged causeway mutilates their feet
And those who beg for breath are beaten down
The magistrate initiates the farce
Her smile a grimace, cynical and brief
A cleric calls the charges, swift and sparse
Conscripted to the sham by blind belief
With painted fingers clutching at the book
Authority administers the law
Her eyes too black with hate to simply look
She grants no grace to those who stain her floor
Their mothers dared to walk on hallowed ground
The sons will all be whipped, the daughters drowned
