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Life done me that way-

wronged.



I, a blameless creature

captured and caged

in metted out punishments.



And for what, I ask?

Crimes, did I commit?

Stones, did I cast?

Pains did I inflict?



Nay, I did not-

at least not by my purpose

nor by my intent.



So for why hath life wronged me?

What purpose set in motion

to be my destruction?



What reason there be,

for my afflicted state,

whence agony is my closest companion?

Why be tears, my only source

of quenching this thirst?

Why be sorrow,

my deepest emotion?



Oh life, yes,

have you wronged me-

and wronged me well and complete.



For I be merely here,

not even knowing my location,

nor my direction.



And what, say you,

is my infraction,

my transgression,

that moves you to such means?



What be my atrocity,

that you deem worthy of this sanction

upon my soul?



What right given you,

to justify this living purgatory?



Nay, you have no answers,

for thy is above reproach

and beyond censure.



Whilst I must be accepting,

compliant and submissive

to thy actions.



Woe, is my fate.

Bereaved, is my heart.

Gone, is my hope.

Wronged, is my consequence.



©Cathy Faist 2004