The Hour of Judgment

This was written about self-consciousness and the fear we all have of being negatively evaluated by others.

Tentative eyes lock on to my wavering movements,
Entrapping me in a stifling, unmovable cage,
Whose lock has been buried somewhere in my brain,
Though where I know not.

An upturned ear sits waiting in judgment
For an oddly intonated phrase
To come leaping from my uncharted lips,
Or perhaps for words machine-gunned
Into the unperturbed air,
But those ears will be denied the satisfaction.

The nose, whose position is considerably lower,
Searches my body for an untamed scent,
In anticipation of an unfathomable stench,
Which would, with a rapturous acidity,
Melt one's fragile nose hairs
And dance jovially in one's nostrils;
But the judge will get no verdict.

The tongue spews forth scathing fire
Between liberally locked lips;
Its verbal assault would pierce my ears' windows,
Made of a most delicate glass,
And direct the dagger of my mind
Against my soft and hollow heart;
But my heart will be shielded.

And the hands, the court's executioners--
What if they were to form into
A perfectly molded rock with a stinging bite?
Or worse, if that army of fingers
Did fasten a binding circle round my neck?
But those hands shall be chained.

The worst judge of all, the top magistrate,
Who commands the invasive operations of the court,
Is the mind,
For it stands idly, absorbing the information
And calculating an unknown estimation;
Thus, the truth lies within its safe,
Which, to my dismay, cannot be picked.

Reviews

[Christina May Shanaberg]

So many people are quick to judge us that we live in the terrors that you describe and fearing everyone we meet. That said, I judge this poem well written and you really get the point across. Great writing!