JUDGMENT HAS A FACE


 From behind a door, walking down a street, 
 Who are they,

 They wander around, they look without a friendly sound.


 With paper and pen, not a friend as they may smile 
 But pretend,

 Watched you are as you walk, speak, examined over a 
 way you dress.

 Judge me with your thoughts but what is there to see 
 In you,
 I am judged by those whom I never again see, strangers, 
 Some family.

 Judgment has a face, not the same as it changes from day 
 To place,

 We are judged with the rotation of our world, travels 
 With the wind.

                                            Keith Garrett