A rattlesnake waits for my words to end
mistrust written on both our faces.
I was not prepared for the flick of the tongue,
that vipers touch – spear headed barbs.
They scored their mark; poison running a mock.
Scuttling back into my sanctuary, I hauled
down the shutters.
Give me a sound reason that I should
allow these bright lights to scorch my tired,
already agonised eyes.
The blood may have long scurried red from these
wounds of self denial
However, I did not die this hot afternoon
I faked it.
Therefore, ladies and gentleman of the jury
please allow me to petition the plaintiff.
Is there a man or women present,
who would rise to say.
That judge and jury, I cannot be, at
this, my very own public trial.
Wear the black cap all – if it
inflames your soul.
For the devil passes judgement attired
in countless veiled guises.
Though believe this –
I will have the final phrase.
I shall take down those words secured
to your hollowed ground.
Let the rats gorge on morsels,
whilst performing their habitual balancing act
Poppy Dec 2012