No Recompense: For Chris O., wrongly prosecuted

On a gray overcast afternoon
You appeared like an isolated shot in the dark,
Clad in the affection of honesty,
Somewhat resolute
But hands rigidly locked on each other
In the very waxing of fear.
I bore witness to your tears,
Gently fought back,
Sincere as they got,
The opposite, the demeaning oxymoron
Of the words that came storming
Out of your lips,
Pleading not for compassion
But the end.
You quaked the world,
Broadcasting your guilt
As you prostrated before
The ruthless, shameless consensus.
We, in turn, bought, endorsed,
Published your incrimination
As we celebrated the justice
That simultaneously departed from your world.
Twelve savage years in the hole.
We stole your youth,
Victimized your blood.
You offered it freely without a sigh of protest.
But how could we not see
The blinding, blatant, blaring
Eulogy of your tragic innocence?