One-Person Trial

My hands were trembling,
My lips quivering,
My eyebrows twitching,
My eyelids flitting.
I felt the basketball push against my palms,
And slither down the court.
I felt my dialogues dance over my lips,
And then run riot.
I felt my brain ambush the answers,
But the answers seized my brain.
I felt a bold rush of assertion,
Which diminished in my veins.

I felt so much that words were unjust to my emotions.
I felt guilt purge my stead, anger stall my gait,
Embarrassment fish out the bait,
Panic moisten my skin, regret dampen it cold.
I felt uncomfortable being myself, I felt the need to metamorphose.
I dreamed the dream of molting a new leaf
Over all my shortcomings.
I cursed myself, I may have cried,
But then I took myself to court over that outburst.

Who's the prosecutor, who's the defendant?
Who's the whipper and who's the snap back-er?
Who's waging the attack and who plans to bounce back?
Are there two, or does one do both?
Because I felt the strains of both like bullets
Penetrating my strength.
Maybe there are two, one's certainly me,
But where's the other, the one with greater clarity,
With a strong scythe of a message, that I'm not good enough,
Does the other even get a chance to play it tough?

I brooded and pined, I felt minuscule,
The defendant I'd hired had failed to rule.
She scratched her head, put up an argument feeble,
I sensed the need, her confidence to enable.
So I took her to the prosecutor, bold and rude,
And waited away, grieving, in that patent interlude,
As they talked and discussed, as they tried to defend,
Their end of the bargain, and argument to subtend.
I saw them chuckle, joke and befriend,
All work aside, they were both witty, smart and astute,
They met halfway, they deemed it a plan acute.

The one-person jury, comprising me,
Was made to believe two fables so alike,
That I was disposed to believe they meant the same,
Each argument was just three shades more tame.
But I chose one, having sworn by the rule-book,
And so the jury had let the accused go Scott-free,
With the mildest trace of a regret-like feel,
But which was actually a warning in disguise,
Not to mope over errors, but to accept them with poise,
Not to weep long and long, but human effort to rejoice.

I'm glad I made the two lawyers meet,
I'm glad I was both the accused and the jury neat.
I'm glad I had the defense, who could bring home the evil villain,
Of a prosecutor who had staged this whole rigmarole.
But it would be even better if I could prevent the villain rising,
With the defense towering over to prevent the uprising.
Yes, it'd be apt to put an end to all doubt,
Because in the end, the victor is the confidence stout,
The belief taut, the will strong,
The ME that is after all, lawyers, accused, jury et al.