By Dr. Agonson
What no one knew, what everyone knew,
what could be proved, what couldn’t be proved,
and what was true, and who I slew,
her sin approved, those breasts removed…
And he walks left, he paces right;
for now silent, but soon he’ll shout.
—I know I’m right, that’s all that’s left—
He sends them out, becomes violent…
“I know you’re guilty,” he declares.
He fixes me with dreadful stares.
“And I know I am innocent.
Do what you will, I am content.”
And so he walks from wall to wall;
and we both know it’s our downfall.
The world is ended by this act:
the penis off the boy’s been hacked,
the breasts are gone, and so’s the womb.
So awful is this lawful tomb,
this sepulcher of Roman stone
which silences, citing our tone—
What tones are right with butchers near,
when for our children we all fear?—
The world’s undone by my own deed;
for war and death, I’ve sewn the seed.
When there’s no law, blood answers blood,
and law perverse brings forth a flood,
a red deluge that will not end
unless some God mercy will send.
And God will justify my claim
or cast me to eternal shame.
He softly whispered his appeal,
“Confess your crime, we’ll strike a deal.”
My die is cast, and there must lie,
and here I’ll sit and silence keep,
for I’ll not lie nor join their cast,
won’t join the sheep, repeat their shit.
And what was good, her childhood,
and beautiful, new womanhood.
What could be proved, what couldn’t be proved.
What no one knew, what everyone knew.
Tale Told 