The Beam

Solid oak benches and ivory gavels,

before twenty-four eyes the story unravels.

Two proper people with coat and a tie,

sifting through time, balancing lies.

One stoic person, the host of it all.

Witness by witness, the warrior’s call.

God’s the witness of analytical wit,

with the black robe of balance perfectly fit.

When the proceedings were tied all in a bow,

the twenty-four eyes were lead in a row.

As they walked out in elegant style,

there wasn’t a sound, not even a smile.

The whispers began and the gavel did sound.

The black robe arose and dismissed all around.

They left the arena to come back again.

They fired up their smokes and acted like friends.

Some of them frowned others held back huge grins,

while judging the host of his accused sins.

The twenty-four eyes were told not to come

back until all their mouths echoed as one.

The heart of the eyes to the escort, he said,

“We’ve reached our decision. It’s time to be read”.

Inside the granite the echo did sound.

Back in the arena it’s time for last round.

Entered the black robe and everyone stood.

He swung the ivory, knocking on wood.

Down he sat, as did the rest.

Everyone waited for the heart to attest.

The black robe did speak in a concerning way.

“Twenty-four eyes, what do you say?”

The heart took the paper and said, “This we found,

this man is Guilty.” And the black robe did sound.

“I have heard all the papers and seen all the words,

your milk is spoiled and filled with large curds.

Etiquette is right and rudeness is wrong.

You’re out of key with humanity’s song.

In the blind lady’s home with the keepers of time,

you must reform and pay your set fines.

Obeying the rules spending your time,

paying back penance for all of your crime.”

 
Dedicated to my friend, Judge Richard Broch.

Stanley Victor Paskavich