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Death of the Inmate
When they took you from your house, you saw the crowd and raised your voice, but they drowned it with their conspirator’s whispers. You heard them lay accusations on your head, and they heaped coal on you. You felt their words bite deep into your flesh, as they lead you up the mountain, to make the last feast of you. Even though many were against you that day, you were believed by a few, those who were keen to understand than to judge, those who were keen to listen than speak. Just know that you were, and thy death was not vain. Before you even closed your eyes, your case had been solved, and many of those that were pointing fingers had long withdrawn, and they unhanged you from where you were suspended, swinging in the evening wind, and the post creaking with your weight.
I heard your dying song, and it made me weep, almost leave my seat. I heard the last of whispers and saw the last of your kicks, but your eyes were wide open even as you left, begging to be believed, asking them to trust you one last time, and even as your hands, tied behind the back strove to lay claim to your innocence, but even as they took you out, I wanted you to know, that you were believed, by anyone, by someone, for when you took the last plunge, all the claps went silent, and the wails calling for your end were begging for it to stop, for they saw it, though they saw it late, oh, you were believed. You died a sinner, but oh, they shall make you a saint. You died condemned, but someday, you shall rise believed, for it is well, it is well with your soul. You were loved, just know that you were, and what you gave has never really been left behind. You shall not be forgotten, for you lived not for yourself but for everyone. The grave cannot hold you back, for your spirit is too large. Be not afraid, and be not full of regret, for your life is celebrated, and you are sun of. Plead not your case, and fight not to clear your name, for it is clean. You were believed.

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