Power is a lion that lives in the blood,
pounding against the fragile walls
of his too narrow cage,
clawing his way to freedom
to run through the wilds
and live with the other beasts,
the natural nature of mankind,
the unbridled passion,
the love of the laws of the jungle,
a lover of war and aggression,
a child of the maturated peace,
the gradual flowing into the soul
of the God like voices
that begin to speak to him,
but yet to reign in his heart,
given the power of authority,
a badge and a gun,
a license to exercise
his aggression,
his undeveloped peaceful
maturation process,
the jungle that
still lives inside him
controlling his
thoughts and actions,
he’s a killer of the weaker kind,
a bad apple in a bushel
of upright maintainers of justice,
of father like cops who
have the peaceful maturity
living inside of them
who are labeled as killers
from the actions of one bad cop
who’s a representative of himself
only and not the whole as a unit.
Injustice is what he did to
the rest of the police force.
The reins of power live in the
soul of the fathers of justice.