Take me from this tapestry of tears

I have faced the crossbeams

As well as the jeers

Even if my tears salty streams

Are fed by colors soft hued creams

Nobody warned me of the trail

Judge and jury laughed all the while

Evidence torn and badly tattered, now a mere bit of shred,

No verdict there, was rendered

I was forgotten, left for dead

The chosen moments of each dance

Are not supported by romance

I fought my way to the war front

Bullets ripe, ripped into my flesh

I uttered a feeble faint grunt

Their was no blood anywhere

But I was bleeding from despair

Guess this confirms the jury’s view

And now I just will so submit

To plain pine coffin’s humble pew

But as they nailed the coffin shut

I was in the garden,

Not the wooden hut,

Saw a man sweating pearls of blood

Pooling below with clay and mud

Sincerity’s simplicity, offer of tears

Condemned by Roman jury’s fears

Defeated, at least that’s what appears

I stood there covered by death’s shroud

The angry mob advancing loud

-Frank Attanasia