Members Of The Jury Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

Members of the jury please be seated.
I am about to present a poem.
May it be received and oft repeated
among many others if you know them.
I neither weep nor sleep for flowers cast,
neither bow before the chantry of death.
I humbly submit the present and past,
the now that is bathed with fortunate breath.

I appear before you a sacrament,
a revenant born of beauty and pain,
a daily reminder and punishment
of that which has fallen when echoes remain.
A conversant belle in a sacred shell,
a fledgling born with wings of midnight sun,
a ponderous depth, a merciful swell,
I am the lamplight of a dream-span spun.

Members of the jury, both wise and brave,
there are no shadows in this wholesome release.
We all want heaven, and heaven we crave.
There can be no guilt in the arms of peace.
I place before you all the evidence:
the pillars of truth, the boulders of guile,
the washbowl of unstained deliverance,
the half moon gleaming in back of my smile.

My hands are silently decomposing
like petals fading in gardens of stone.
My eyes yet open are slowly closing,
loosen the teardrops and lashes of bone.
My words verboten are a requiem,
a surge of faith in an ice-bed of reeds,
a lover's song in vaunt compendium,
a rosary of confessional beads.

Members of the jury, I acquiesce.
I painted the bridges; I burned the sky.
Perfectly human, I have no regrets.
Shredded remains are my only reply.
Let my words be enough to understand,
I dragged my fingers through layers of dust
as my heart was pulled through a desert land
erecting such treasures as hope and trust.

I write that I might breathe in every line
to live long beyond the breath of pages,
to linger on lips that rise above mine
with the sovereignty of golden ages.
Members of the jury, I gently close.
Judge as you will for it is your duty.
As an albatross fell, a songbird rose.
A prayer bird soars on wings of beauty.