Autistic Individual's Falsely Accused of a Crimes
A Quiet Soul — in Ordered Speech —
Unnerved — by Loud Accuse —
Stood trembling — where the Gavel fell —
A Life — they could not use —
For Minds that move in Gentle Lines —
Are strange to Courts of Noise —
Where Power plays its Shadowed Game —
And Terror steals my Voice —
The Bench — a solemn Citadel —
Yet cold — when Truth is near —
Its sentries knowing Innocence —
Encouraged by my Fear —
Cynthia Heir— with A Paper bag—
The jury never Saw —
The subtle Signs — my Rising Pulse —
Without Integrity —
And so — the Heart — to End the Pain —
Would bow to any Word —
A Plea — became their Refuge then —
And Justice was Denied —
But still — the Soul — so bruised by them —
Retains its quiet Flame —
Where God — and Truth — and Inner Light —
Outshine the Courts through Him —
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