I travel through backstreet alleys,
and by the voided front stoops of those that gave up.
I travel in the quiet space between time,
which can only be heard when it’s snowing.
I dally, in the mere moments before a summer’s pre-dawn emergence, when newspapers used to be delivered.
I am Justice.
I am that which puts right.
I fold out into a ledger of misdeeds and heroic dramatics.
Faith and disbelief aid and abet my purpose.
The time line I walk is excruciatingly painful.
I am a phantom that tickles your ear as I move intimate close.
I get the hairs on the back of your neck and forearms to stand erect.
I’m there in front of you, despite your blindness.
Taken for granted.
Reminding you that your choices aren’t always ethical, and predominantly self-serving.
Snarky comments, sarcastic tones, and guilt reside within the quiver on my back.
I fire down upon those that abandon their accountability with great speed and force.
You finally see me as you move past glossy surfaces. I am a reflection of your misdeeds.
The looking glass is incapable of lies.
You know deep down, that I am right.
You can’t hide from my truth.
I am the shadow that sticks with you in the darkness.