parody on justice

confining a few, in favor of the protection for most, still I then am bound and tethered to those whom I choose. I choose not, those because they're great, wonderful, grand associates, but because they're the cause of the pain of frustration ... a temporary martyr diving on the grenade to shield all others from a nasty explosion. I hate it. It still has a cost. Those, worst offenders, see that they are confined, but not assaulted and so offend again. The penalty isn't one, save for the prosecution -- me. No more I say, but find that it's only talk. My series of profanities are saved for the decades-dead keyboard and blank paper before its mauling.