The scale was never fair. On one side promises shining like gold spoken in grand rooms where no goes hungry and kindness is something to buy sell. the other a pile of names remembers faces turned into numbers hands reaching for justicethat always slips away. Truth sold highest bidder while lies were handed out bread hungry. And middlethe scale’s beam crackedworn down by centuries silent people being pushed dust. But even now under broken stones lost names small seed stirs. A voice rises not ask but break.Not tip scale tear it apart. costs more than lies.Justice tired animal chained courtroom sigh. Still beneath ruins pushes through stone. heartbeat learns belong.And I poet morningsgather words fallen leaves.For every that silencedI write so someone remembers care.