The Accusing

I sit in the midst of condemnation,
In a room to accuse.
Wondering where it all came from,
So alone, so abused.

They wonder why I sit quiet,
But in my innocence, there’s nothing to defend.
With fingers pointed and accusations made,
I sit in a room alone, yet with so many.

The injustice of the past,
The anger of one.
I seem to get the wrath,
For what someone else has done.

With no one to turn to,
I stand condemned and stoned.
Surrounded by suspicion,
Pushed aside and shone.

The ones that I love,
Have turned to ice.
Stabbed in the back,
Now I must pay the price.

The outcome uncertain,
My fate unknown.
But my vindication is the Lords,
And that will be shown.