- Books, Literature, and Writing
The Jury - a Poem
The Jury looks down on the room,
A room of shadows, filled with gloom,
In discussion, they, about my fate,
Hour upon hour, I sit and wait.
There’s something I’ve done wrong, it seems,
Perhaps it’s real, or just in dreams,
I can’t believe I’m waiting here
Underneath this judge’s chair.
I search my mind for what I’ve done,
The guilt is there, I want to run,
But I can’t think of a single thing,
That would require an offering.
An offering of my life is fair,
“I’ll give up everything”, I swear,
They sit there staring, one and all,
I wait to hear the gavel fall.
They press me with the deepest gaze,
Until I can only look away,
And what I’d give to trade their place,
And sit and judge another’s case.
But mine is up, it is my turn
To sit in judgment that I’ve earned,
The lead jurist stands to speak,
I cannot stand, my legs so weak.
“We find you guilty of a crime,
That man’s committed down through time,
You’ve lived your life by what we said,
A life that’s filled you with much dread.
There is no sentence - walk away,
Never treading again these halls of grey,
You’re free to go, now get your things,
For we require no offering.”
I sat there in disbelief,
"The jury spoke and set me free?"
And as I turned to walk away,
I looked back where they sat today,
And they were gone into thin air,
There wasn’t a trace - anywhere.
“What will everybody think?”
Has taken me to the very brink.
I’ve stared over the edge many days,
Lost in their cruel judgment’s haze.
But now I turn and move away,
From the edge where night meets day,
And taste God’s grace, I’m finally free,
As I realize - the Jury was me.