Justice Wants Some Hell

 

Revenge declares, “You caused me to bleed.”
Justice insists, “This threatens the creed.”
One seeks to heal a personal scar,
One tries to keep the world from ajar.

 

The wound of the self, the wound of the land—
Justice with rules, or revenge by hand?
Both speak of wrong, both carry the flame,
Only the story shifts with the name.

 

Revenge is a mirror held to one’s pain,
A private redress, a personal claim.
It trades raw anger for answered pain,

Yet never asks if the balance is sane.

 

Justice steps back, and it seeks repair,
Not just for one, but for all who share.
It names the act, it restores the trust—
Not only what's fair, but what’s a must.

 

Yet judgment sits at the heart of both,
Assigning blame with a sacred oath.
Deserve is the word they both invoke—
A cloak for the fire beneath the smoke.

 

The wound of the self, the wound of the land—
Justice with rules, or revenge by hand?
Both speak of wrong, both carry the flame,
Only the story shifts with the name.

 

If we act just to deter the next crime,
With no blame assigned, no storyline—
That’s not justice—it’s managed control,

A path with no drama, just reaching a goal.

 

We humans crave more than a stable fate—
We want the wrong named, expressing our hate.
Our judgment must fall like a sacred bell,
More than just working, we want some hell.

 

The wound of the self, the wound of the land—
Justice with rules, or revenge by hand?
Both speak of wrong, both carry the flame,
Only the story shifts with the name.