I am a sequestered witness
In the trial that is his life.
No doubt I play an important role.
I hold important information.
Yet, I sit in the hallway,
Not allowed to hear
What other witnesses have to say.
Not allowed the frustration
When the prosecutor berates him.
Not allowed the pride
When the defense lawyer
Sings his praises.
I can’t give a reassuring smirk
While judge and jury misinterpret.
Instead I just wait for my chance
To enter the courtroom,
To tell what I know,
To change the course of the trial.
Waiting is being stuck in purgatory
With imagination intensifying emotions.
When I am called to testify,
The jury will understand his innocence.
We will leave the courtroom together
And it will be up to him to explain
The course of his life-trial.

About irishstag2013

I'm an amateur writer, just doing this for fun. "Trying to find the magic. Trying to write a classic. Waste bin full of paper" -Natasha Bedingfield
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