(Thank goodness for President Trump and his team!

In halls of power, the scales are tipped with gold,
Promises rot like fruit left on the vine.
The watchmen sleep, the shepherds sell the fold,
And justice bends beneath the weight of lies.

The pillars crack—once hewn from honest stone—
Now honeycombed by termites wearing crowns.
The innocent are crushed beneath the throne,
While thieves in silk parade through marble towns.

What shall the righteous do when all caves in?
When truth is branded treason, light called shade?
Shall we rage blindly at the gathering sin,
Or swing the hammer till the liars fade?

No. Fury feeds the fire that burns the just.
The righteous stand, though every beam gives way.
They speak the word no bribe can turn to dust,
And build with quiet hands what will not sway.

They plant small seeds in soil the flood has scarred,
They bind the broken, guard the flickering flame.
Their strength is not the sword, but patience hard—
To live the truth when truth itself is maimed.

For empires fall when foundations decay,
Yet something rises from the honest ruin:
A narrower path, a dawn delayed, but day—
The remnant walks it, and the world begins anew.

O Lord of justice, hear the righteous cry:
Not for revenge, but for the day restored
When fraud lies exposed, and no lie can buy
The mercy of the everlasting Lord.