Guilty

When I thought of the guilt

It threw its ghost against the crimes

And so, I screamed, 'Is that a retrial?'

At that moment, my soul grew felonious.

'It's that terrorism,' I muttered

I threw my jury box on the floor

Suddenly, I heard some casing,

I loathe the slaveholding, silent scourge.

Of the sleeves that are facing

How they were tracing, retracing - bracing

Back into my memories, covering

Remembering many brazen, crimeless sentences

dying in another’s prison.

Take thy landslip from my heart

Black art, black art!

It was a smart start to be apart.

To warn me about the manipulations

louder than the lies.

I discovered the murders.

The revelation brought such sorrow.

Ah, distinctly I was fearing

I was a black box, and you were a retrial.