Mental Martyr Poem by Ronni Scott

What seems to mean these things we dream
What depth and scope subconscious schemes

As I sat bathed in firelight
And day was birthed from darkest night

A trial was staged within my dreams
Overseen by Kings and Queens

A jury of supposed peers
Snickered, scoffed, stared and sneered

I was accused of heresy
For words I used and dared to say

‘Twas sacrilege and heinous wrong
Depicting weak what was thought strong

That which my pen had put to page
Was viewed as revolution’s rage

The page then fed a growing fire
Burning bright, my funeral pyre

Convicted ‘ere I spoke a word
My death sentence would soon be heard

And even though it mattered not
To speak my peace, one chance I got

When queried of my own defense …

“I hope I made a difference”