Increasingly difficult it is,
To keep one's cool...
When the hell they have created
Generates the heat,
Dripping the plastic...
Off of a faked smile.
That has been masked to present
The love of attention to get.
It's also difficult,
To accept a claim one makes...
That pictures taken,
Of one's hand placed deep...
Inside a forbidden cookie jar,
Does not a case make.
And provides, at best...
Insufficient evidence.
One's defense?
Looking shocked.
And disappointed.
Astonished!
And caught up in the flash.
To momentarily blind,
One unprepared to pose.
Does not mean,
Criminal intent...
Had been purposely meant,
To substantiate...
A fruitless investigation.
That is no more,
Than an aging maiden...
Determined to snatch someone,
To satisfy a witch hunt.
'Oh, we've got the fruit.
Looming before us,
Ready and dripping to pick...
In it's full bloom.
And guess what? '
-What? -
'We are not squeezing,
To get a taste.
You have offered to volunteer.
At the expense and waste,
Of your own credibility.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem