A world where we preach justice over dead bodies.


United Kingdom
55° 22' 40.9836" N, 3° 26' 9.5028" W


Police pulling guns on the daily, to the heads of coloured men, and to the hearts of them, Bang Bang and they're gone just as fast as they came.

Washed away for what? For another hashtag to start to tear us apart and haunt us as we live our lives as we always did.

I may write a poem and some may write a song, but it does not bring enough voice to the fact that a gun does not belong pointed at an innocent civilian.

Triggers pulled by men claiming to be serving their country but the only thing they're serving is death. Like glorified grim reapers the unrightful gatekeepers to life.

Life, we have only one, and you see one plus one normally equals two but when the two are not equal in the eyes of someone, it only succumbs to one. The police officer left holding his gun.

Bang Bang, gunshots left recorded by people standing by, left lodged in the head or the hearts of men and women being screamed at to put a gun down when the only gun they see it pointed right at them.

But when the men in uniform are locked away in prison to reform they're let go, doors slide open like their finger sliding to the trigger. Their life reopening like them opening fire and the guilt is swept from their brain like the life from their victim's eyes.

The sentence of an innocent man pulled over on the side of the road, is death, but the sentence of a guilty man who created his own verdict upon said innocent man is merely nothing. No conviction for the death of this victim.

Is this what this world calls Justice.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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