Setting You Free

i sit here with a gavel on hand
dressed in black
you fear me for what i can do
for i sit in judgment of you
i look at you
and find this tranquility of your
spirit and i humble myself before
you, an innocent man
silenced by the cruelty of the laws
of his brethren
and then i bang the gavel
setting you free and then
i get down from the heights of
man's self-made bench
glossy yet so cold and then
i shake your hand
it is warm and
it had long been
thirsty.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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