NaPoWriMo Day 26: Just One

For day 26 I used the 5 Stages of Grief as my prompt.


Awoke in the night
by the throes of madness,
compassion turned to anger.
For I’ve loved ones that suffered in ways
only wretched minds imagine
and noble hearts could never reconcile.
Sleep deprived and betrayed,
I sleepwalked into a daymare
that lasted 3 months…
or was it longer?
For an aged wound may never scar
if one’s own lamentation is the vulture.


Can this really be happening?
It can’t be real.
Anguish is,
all that I can feel.
Bowels empty,
a cell’s squalid light…
injustice smells,
a lot like shite.


Compassion gave way to anger quickly:
a multitude of materials
for the guilty were prepared.
But what of the innocent
that are caught unawares?
I complied all day long,
but enough was enough…
crumpled leaflets thrown,
a kinesthetic “get stuffed!”

A false friend drew a line in the sand;
oh how I wished I were Moses
to plague his accursed land.

She amounted to nothing,
and alas always will.
My last act of compassion…
was not to kill.


I knew I were innocent,
at least of this charge.
Katabasis upon a broken barge.
Whirlpools surrounded me,
in all manners fair.
I choked on my sins
while gasping for air.
For they are many,
too many to list.
Yet my soul was ravenous
as it did not do this.


The false friend reappeared
a mere 11 weeks later.
He’d chosen a side
and emerged a hater.
I drew blood with a headbutt
as he disparaged me.
I’d accepted my sins,
yet not this travesty.
An hour later,
the phone would ring:
“We knew you were innocent
from the moment we took you in.”
I offer him an olive branch,
yet he burned down the tree…
and so it is Myth,
who lives in infamy.

A letter arrives from my brief,
yet the truth of this nation
would lead me to weep.
At a time of austerity,
many must unlawfully suffer
yet for purveyors of law
crime is their bread and butter.
I’m told my accuser’s fortune is a mere pittance,
nor do charities for the falsely accused offer me remittance.
Yet my brief would have defended, if my guilt were assured…
yet to duty solicitors
innocence is deplored.
For they will make bank,
from despicable evil…
by being the defence of indefensible people.


How can one accept the unacceptable.
Yet I’ve chosen to tell my story,
and not hide in shame.
I took my misfortune,
and I gave it a name.

The Litany Of Varied Experiences
is thine own emancipation;
as I spit in the face
of undue degradation.

Truth was my armour,
my testimony my sword…
if life is a stage,
you may hold your applause.

For my story isn’t over,
it’s only just begun.
In my Litany Of Varied Experiences…
this is just one.

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