hostile witness
hostile witness
by Halifax
repeat offender
afloat in space
the likeliest suspects
get selected from the jury pool
to stand trial
before a frozen mathematics,
around, aware hypocrites
sit near legal council
calculating the table settings
which radiate toxic gravity
holding everything in order
each awaiting their turn
to testify and stand accused
the greatest spectacle
just came to watch
background radio
report on the crimes
creaky silverware squelches
an interruption,
accusing with God
everything alive listening
fist clenched pocket napkins
crumple under vacuum
as I come out alone
at first to defend myself
later accepting the verdict
based on my own words
I am turned against me
as all without lenience, grace said,
are sentenced to life
God pleased by pronouncement
with return of the findings
releases creation
to their own recognizance
under plea agreement,
go forth and multiply
bailiffs
to detain the witnesses
for cross examination
on charges of sin
brought by hearing the call without without
meant only for an everlasting ear
a sound that eats itself to feel
a feeling that stops itself crying
confessions ashamed of being
while so much else,
eternally more pious,
silent
is not
The Psychology of Judgement is rendered here to a ‘t’, i would say. Nice research and interpretation delving into the subject matter and equating court process into metaphysics.
There’s a picture i saw a long time ago, or maybe it was in a dream, but there are pews like a church with people in them awaiting judgement. 2 burly angels are seen dragging an evil-doer to a doorway-hatch that has flames coming out of it. Of course the guy is kicking and screaming with his eyes about to pop out of their sockets from fear. mmm.
If there is ever a day of reckoning, there indeed will be much shame, regret, and crying. I often wonder at how many prayers God has received to just be left alone, however, and how many pray to just cease to be after living such hard lives.
In any case, i appreciated the 1st person confessional perspective in this poem, as well as such beautifully smithed lines such as: “fist clenched pocket napkins crumple under vacuum as I come out alone at first to defend myself later accepting the verdict
based on my own words I am turned against me.”
Life–it sure is a booger!
…and yet I pick it. Life is sticky like that. Hard to finagle nuggets of meaning without some kind of process and once you think you’ve got something, maybe it was under your finger nail the whole time. Perhaps that’s why we spend more time looking than we do enjoying what we find.
I appreciate your comments.
Have some?