Jury Duty.

 

The room is cold as day old prey,

its  silence,  loud with innuendo.

 

ceaseless  ticking of the clock

urge time to a crescendo.

 

Those chosen sit and barely move,

pondering the hue and cry.

 

Like lettuce in a pansy border

out of place not knowing why.

 

Words that need a new direction,

fall like larks with wooden feet .

 

And days that pass as mini seasons,

change,  with every wretch we meet.

 

Those chosen now seek  innocence

like infants, fingertips to sky.

 

The telling stretched beyond repair

no bearing on the  where and why  

 

When need is gone and duty met

like markers in a precious book.

 

The daily rush to solve a puzzle,

ends with likeness in a look.

 

 

Copyright  ©Roan  Dec 2012