The First Trial - Before Thing's Went Wrong Poem by James McLain

In the eye of the true beholder, if
beauty is, could justice ever be?
Around the one tree climbing vine's
denuded of leave's, shriveled, once green.
Teeth grinding, row after row in-between deep,
the man in the boat, sits up and draws breath.
Toes once curled that now stand out straight.
She the baiter of word's, fearful outbursts
manipulated and
killed and then dumped on the side of the road
with her thinking
other thought's, one of which is he really dead?
Before thing's went wrong the trouble was, just in case
any more burglaries occurredthat couldn't be solved,
it would be best to arrange
the out come of any and all, future trials.