Beneath the ghost of a silver moon,
A balance sways in judgment’s tomb.
No blindfold here—just sockets bare,
Staring through your silent prayer.
One skull bleeds with justice torn,
The other bears the hammer worn.
A pound of flesh, the debt is weighed,
In bone-wrought court where dues are paid.
No plea, no bribe, no final breath—
Just even hands and grinning death.
What’s fair is cold, what’s owed is near—
Libra whispers, “Balance, dear.”
