when is it right
when it is wrong
don’t you hear?
the cries in bed.
those comforting the dead.
when is it right
when it is wrong
as raids are sanctioned,
and names are reassigned.
when is it right
when it is wrong
when greed becomes exalted,
and blood has nowhere to hide.
when is it right
when it is wrong
when names are scribed,
while darkness closes the sky.
when is it right
when it is wrong
when the powerful are free
and the cost is borne
on the unseen.
two sides of a coin.
same metal.
same hand.
two sides — one fate.
when is it enough.
© 2026 Corvalya
Reflection
This poem is alive.
It first arrived in fire — a necessary heat, a flare to refusal.
But it kept moving. And so did I.
What you read now came later, as a human question knocking on my ordinary life. It asks what happens when sight bends according to convenience — when something becomes “right” simply because the coin landed on the same side.
If She Left the Cave is the moment of illumination, and After the Cave the reckoning, and The Echo Tries to Root the testing, then this poem is the next motion: the mind returning to the street as a thinking heart.
It is not written to instruct but to interrupt — to slow the reflex that sorts people into deserving and prey, victor and innocent.
Here, protest is simply thinking out loud as a human being.
The question keeps the metal warm enough to be shaped by compassion.
I invite you to read the poem again.