Judge

In the hushed courtroom, shadows play,
A gavel rests upon the stone‑grey table,
Its weight a quiet promise, day by day,
To balance truth where doubts are unstable.

He wears the wig of centuries’ resolve,
A mantle stitched from precedent and lore,
Each word he speaks a measured, solemn evolve,
Yet mercy whispers through the law’s closed door.

Beyond the bench, the world spins swift and loud,
But here, within these walls, he seeks the calm—
To judge not just the act, but heart’s shroud,
And find the equity that heals the psalm.

So let the scales tip neither left nor right,
But hover, steady, in the lantern’s gentle light.