I walked on a beach, where waves were calm
but in my mind brewed a storm
To decide who decides what’s right and what’s wrong
A judge seated high striking a gavel to end one’s life?
or the executioner who pulls the lever to hang him down?
Or perhaps the man in the mirror himself
who lost this game of chance
as the coin landed the other way around
We all are grey, with no sieve to separate the sins apart
black and white in different proportions
as the artist’s pallet after art
So, isn’t all this act just a facade
and an act to reflect the grim in the dark