My heart bleeds
pain and I can’t treat the stain
Of lies and jeers,
paranoia and fears,
Almost at times
insane, beset by strain.
Accused, betrayed,
pierced deep by splintered facts,
Cross examined by
dilettantes and rakes,
Summoned to courts
to see a sharpened ax,
While proxies hissed
and spat like lethal snakes.
The faultfinders shaped
sins of omission
And
failed to prove even that shabby case.
But they bullied
to coerce contrition,
Offered up their
cover-up to save face.
At night I hear
the chanting of the crowd
They
will taunt me until I wear my shroud.
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