Smoke and cigar

Smoke and cigar- lit up always...
in the room and in the hall ways....
you carry it around in one hand
the other carries a record book..
notes from a hearing fair...
hair pulled back, prim and trimmed in your helmed coat...
fitting precisely in the judgement chair...

does the smoke help..
the ashes open up highways or
burn a bridge to light a pathway....
ohh its ever so difficult to find someone guilty..
when you hear the complete story...
though the cloak is black and white...
every coin has two sides....
and its hard to tell where the decision will sway.....

does the smoke help...
little rings of fire melt
the heart before a death sentence....
or its easier to look without the lens....
into the eyes of the culprit..
standing there in an empty gaze like an exhibit..
with nothing to lose or nothing to hide...
there's no winning with his dismay.....

does the smoke help...
the white clouds in a fuzzy belt
beat you up on being harsh...
for listening to logic instead of heart..
when the jury in all its fury
tried to persuade of the honesty
of a lover and his emotion...
you overlooked
and went with the royal commotion...
now the village is in ruins and the sky's grey....

does the smoke help...
making you aware and making it felt...
how can you decide...
when your own actions you can't justify...
in the time of a tragedy...
everyone looks around...
for someone to blame....
only this time the finger points your way...

does the smoke help...