Crime

In the fog‑lit alleys of the city,
Whispers of crime slip like shadowed silk,
A gloved hand lifts a purse, the night’s soft sigh,
While sirens wail a mournful hymn to the bobbies.

The crown court waits, its marble halls austere,
Judges weigh the scales with measured gaze,
Barristers plead, their words a careful dance,
Justice seeks balance, though oft it seems awry.

Yet beneath the headlines, a quieter truth:
Poverty, neglect, the seeds that breed offence,
Reformation, not mere retribution, may mend,
The fractured threads that bind our common street.

We must remember, behind each act, a human heart,
Hope flickers, even in the darkest lane.