Mocking Bird

A man in a cell
Cold, in this dark hell.
Dark as his skin,
Accused of a sin.
This mocking bird does nothing
While his wing is twisted.
This sin not his
Yet a ghostly white finger pointed at him
Tells another story,
One of lies, and deceit.
His skin gleams a reminder
Innocent or not he knows the dark daemon is coming
It only took the tint of his skin
A once blind justice now sees his color.
All the Tell-Tale signs,
That this crime is not his
Have been ignored
The dirt which now covers his body screams for the truth.
All 17 holes in him of violence
Maybe some day the hope will come to Maycomb
Someday justice will be color blind again