Tag: justice

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Justice Betrayed: The Plight of Victims in British Courts

Oh, justice! Where is your guiding hand?
In Britain’s courts, a fractured land,
Three arms of law now feeble, blind,
Betray the broken, torment the kind.

The Prime Minister speaks, but his words are a stain,
Shielding the guilty, dismissing the pain.
A nation’s children, their innocence torn,
While Westminster slumbers, complicit, forlorn.

The judges, the lawmen, the councillors too,
Turn from the cries of the girls they once knew.
For fear of offence, for fear of reprieve,
They bury the truth, and let evil believe.

Call it grooming? No, call it by name!
Rape, degradation, a nation’s shame.
Yet those in power cast victims aside,
In service of optics, they let justice slide.

The police, meant to guard, protect,
Became complicit, their duty wrecked.
One whispered, “It’ll teach her a lesson, you’ll see,”
A protector turned predator in tyranny.

In Parliament’s halls, where answers should rise,
Silence and obfuscation fill the skies.
Multicultural dreams built on deceit,
Left broken lives strewn at their feet.

Where is inquiry? Where is reform?
The storm grows louder; the grief grows warm.
But ministers falter, their vision unclear,
Protecting their ranks while neglecting the sear.

Sir Keir kneels for the causes afar,
But not for the girls left battered and scarred.
He speaks of division, of far-right bands,
While ignoring the torment at his homeland’s hands.

Justice, oh justice, where have you gone?
The song of the broken, their harrowing song,
Echoes through courtrooms, through councils, through time,
Yet no one answers for such a crime.

Deport the dual citizens, bring the truth to light,
End the silence that cloaks the night.
Let inquiry reign, let victims be heard,
Restore the meaning to justice’s word.

For the mothers who weep, for the daughters who fall,
For the soul of a nation—hear their call.
Three arms of justice, mend your decay,
Or step aside for a brighter day.

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Hope and Justice: A Rallying Cry for Britain 2025

I stand with hope, unwavering and strong,
Though the world feels heavy, though much seems wrong.
The mess we see, the chaos that reigns,
Cannot dim the light where hope remains.

My message is clear, my call to you:
You are not alone; we’ll see this through.
Though silence may shroud the decent, the wise,
British hearts beat with logic that never dies.

2025—the year of sense reborn,
A roaring truth through the mist is sworn.
Let them call us names, let the smears cascade,
We’ll rise undeterred, as the storms are swayed.

For wanting borders to hold their line,
To protect our home—it’s no hate of mine.
For putting Britain first, for taking a stand,
For the people, our values, the love of our land.

We are right—of this I am sure,
For smaller states, for economies pure.
To slash the tax, to reward the strive,
To let hard work and dreams thrive.

For shielding children from a creeping tide,
For truth, not trends, where facts reside.
For celebrating this nation’s might,
Our history, our gifts, our guiding light.

We are right—to demand the law be fair,
For justice applied without despair.
To help our own through winter’s chill,
Before the world gets what it will.

They would have you feel alone, betrayed,
But millions stand where our hopes are laid.
Decent, proud, and steadfast in fight,
Together we march for what is right.

So let reform be our rallying cry,
Through the ballot box, let courage fly.
No anger, no tears, no hollow despair,
Determination grows where we dare.

For Britain I love, for its soul so true,
There’s so much left for me, for you.
2025—let common sense reign,
Let hope and justice rise again.

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Silent Power

There stands a voice, alone, unseen,
With wisdom bright, though cloaked in dream,
A whisper lost in crowded air,
Yet holding truth, beyond despair.

The quiet call for what is right,
Drowns beneath the blinding light,
Of those who sell the empty creed,
Who shout with power, plant the seed.

The bus-side boasts, the posters bold,
With lies of futures bought and sold,
To sway the crowd, to blur the view,
The wealth amassed by just a few.

The pensioners, the frail, the meek,
Who find their fight but cannot speak,
Their struggles lost in silvered halls,
Where silence echoes in the walls.

Yet lone, a voice, begins to rise,
In eyes once blind, it sparks, it flies,
For freedom lives where speech remains,
Where questions linger, where thought refrains.

Not all who challenge seek to harm,
Nor stir the violent, nor cause alarm,
But dare to ask, and dare to learn,
In whispered fires, the truth may burn.

The masses find, in humble sound,
A strength once small, now spreading round,
As voices joined, the power grows,
A movement born from silent throes.

Yet still the gatekeepers deny,
Their golden pens still write the sky,
And mute the words that dare to say,
“Perhaps we’ve strayed, there’s a better way.”

But freedom’s voice is hard to bind,
And truth will rise, though cruelly mined,
For strongest is the one who stands,
Alone, yet firm with outstretched hands.

No evil wears a single face,
It hides in wealth, it shifts with grace,
It moves the masses, paints the wall,
But cannot crush the voice of all.

So speak, though few may hear your call,
For every truth, though small, stands tall.