P
Literature
Poem: German Justice Machine (214 words)
He called on the machine
to bind the voices,
to chain the thoughts,
to turn words into guilt.
Masks gleam like gold,
tongues drip honey,
hands tremble holy—
but reach for the knife.
Lies dance on paper,
gifts become weapons.
Poems as threats,
trust turned to betrayal.
The clutch groans with rust,
without proof, without blood.
Gears shriek verdicts,
but nothing falls—only silence.
Yes, there was anger,
and the words did burn.
But fire alone
does not begin a war.
A phantom threatens the woman,
a verse threatens the child.
A game for pallid kings,
with bones in their hands.
Too late, the hand retreats—
not from remorse, but fear.
Not from light, but strategy.
No heart—only mask remains.
A circle was drawn,
an offer made of ash.
No myth, no theater—
just truth, in ruin’s shape.
He spins his tale of retreat,
pretends escape is mercy.
But the machine forgets nothing,
and truth bleeds silently.
The machine paused—
no god descended.
It did not seek guilt,
only peace
