Trial

To the wisest there is no answer Even as a multitude perplexed The one whose trouble is their concern Knowing far less even for himself Ordinary yet alone and seemingly unparalleled Perhaps the narcissism talking The rectitude repair if possible But no happy cure Not for this one like a Substituted sheep upon the altar Could it not have been an object Of less potential Unguided and unsourced, fearing The before it is too late Life lived as days not as a whole Never having had an adequate defense Against the prosecutor who knoweth all