Jan 21, 2015
by Susan Cruz
The harshest judge;
an unsympathetic jury.
The counsel accuses
more out of contempt than duty.
The air weighs with guilty oppression,
can barely lift my face;
I focus on a point on the floor,
waiting for it to open and swallow me into its space.
How long will this torture last?
Punishment now seems like a wanted goal,
because enduring this torture
is taking its toll on my soul.
May I seek redemption?
What can I do to mend my ways?
How do you measure and pay back
others suffering and pain?
I am my own judge and jury.
My eyes accuse me, fixed and morose.
What worse punishment can I have
than my own unforgiving soul?