Accuser and advocate
his writings were not worth reading,
his loves were lusts for shadows,
his deeds decomposed in acids of ego,
his life was hardly worth living.
Turn over this runt-soul to me.
Your honor, his choices,
no matter how few, were his.
(No one will take that away,
least of all you, your honor.)
His choices began in freedom,
no matter how little.
There lies some honor, your honor.
Welcome home, child of freedom.
April 5, 2001`