I sit high above, in my judges seat,
guardian of fact, of precision, neat.
I run among the chaos, sweat and roar,
I mediate tempers, settle the score.
In fields of sport, our roles diverge,
but we both capture truth, directing hurt.
I meet on the line, where truth is defined,
did the ball touch, or fall behind the line?
A push, a shove, heat of moment’s hard,
weight of disbelief when I raise a red card.
We stand as witness, jury, guide,
two roles of justice, side by side.
My eyes are steady, my pronouncements clear,
binary in purpose, unwavering, fierce.
I read the soul beneath the day,
balancing fairness in the rough and tough fray.
We record facts, interpret the signs,
navigating human feet and hands’ designs.
I have no room for doubt, no space for grace,
just the impact, the mark, the measured place.
In my game, as in life’s broad sphere,
justice wears many masks, far and near.
We are the watchers, the lines we defend,
the eye that measures, the soul that bends.
Thanks for the prompt referes 
