The Blindfold is for Justice, Not Justifying

Black threads woven through a seam
Two holes in-between without the option to speak
Paired with two squares and 10 even spokes
Once containing a soul, now an enabler of death
With their master, they enter a tomb
Granting only one wish: You were never here
Their laugh can bounce off the stone and make the roots vibrate
And their hands flirting with all the textures of a cave
Their breath engulfing and collapsing without a mist

What is a witness without a hint of evidence?
When those who sniff believe their ears,
They are the allies, who rally by their master’s side,
Listening to them recount alibis of character and grace
Refusing to toy with a match as if their hearing were made out of bright sunshine
Denying that an expert has the wisdom to communicate
Playing checkers with no red pieces, but competing anyway
Never noticing the lady with the blindfold can no longer balance her cones
Who cares when all stand to gain the right to judge and dance on Broadway for their 15 minutes of fame?
Never believing their fortune is doomed the same

Justifying their ground, what friend will be able to blame the grave robber?
When a thief’s prickly package is one they helped to design
With the aid of their ears made of righteous flames
And their nose, brown from a nutrition of lies
When they have given their last nickel for a promise and spoiled inspiration
Their voices will go unheard, as that boyish charm slithers past
Left with only their beds, finally burning a candle
That what they are surrounded, are snakes and mice