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.