Court Of No Appeal

[Sentenced by the Trail, I ran to get Advice of Counsel - the first took my hope, the second my worldly possessions. I'm left only with the right of appeal, the longest of long shots, uncertain if silence is perhaps the wiser course. I cannot help but feel the fool by speaking but what have I to lose! Is there no return from the position I'm in? Tell me in absolutes so that I may know the wisest course. It seems the more I struggle to be free, the more I'm trapped. And yet to do nothing is to train in vain for a world to change.]

To the dearest Court:
My criminality cannot be disputed. My cleverness betrayed me. Who can be my counsel when standing before God? How can I un-know my crime? Look at the absences in my life! There's only one explanation: none. I can't go on like this, eaten alive under the giving sun, pressed into the army of the dead, my life hanging by a court appeal, my last option, shouted to a deserted moon.
However cruel or deceiving or wrongheaded or errant the Court may be makes no difference in my fate. Your worldly sentence is a fool's errand that steals your predicted profit. The Court betrays its future when acting unjustly; a dark cloudy mind speaking only to itself, doddering dunderheads given power and life because forsaken madmen would choose such a course. Woe to the judges for they squandered their mercy at the living time of trial, weaving a web to ensnare both guilty and innocent alike.
In my time of trial, I drowned in suppositions, lunged at evaporating apparitions, prayed to false idols in supplication. In these I placed my trust but rage my only harvest. Now I crawl before you a pathetic beast, drinking from the cup of shame. Each dawn I die, a thousand slashes in the night reminding me of my treachery. Raging, and raging more, pushed beyond the limits of humanity. My gasping soul can find no air.
Thus I write then tear up a thousand arguments for my fate, followed by a thousand arguments more, ad infinitum, for I can neither be silent nor speak as the Court has ruled. If freedom's wish is so foully forbidden, I must ask of the driving fear behind it. Does the Court find direction by denying mine? Yes, you know you have no obligation to answer me, but does the Court believe it has no obligation to answer? Is time your friend in this matter, or a growing enemy that looms over you that grants no appeal? Is that why you would deny my request, because yours languishes in silent refusal?
I'm of two minds, but only while serving one does the other seem correct. From one mind I strain to reach the other, as visible as a rainbow but just as elusive. This is where my freedom lies, in this constant pull that allows me at least a false argument of hope to get through the passing day, but like a prison courtyard I travel in circles only to end up where I started, so even when trying something new the result is always the same, rendering a cruelly familiar feeling I've yet to escape since the beginning of this ordeal that is so certain of my guilt yet withholding explanation - supposing any concern on my part unwarranted - safely ensconced in stubborn ignorance by claiming justice may be served outside the purview of truth while courtly retaining the trappings of reason that gives comfort to the uninformed and the ill-tempered who wish to draw no ire so as to remain blind to their peril not realizing that only perpetuates it.
So you see, I ask you not to do for me, but to do for yourself. We shall wail together or sing together - but together it will be. It is not the impossible dream the prosecutor argues. The Rider on the Pale Horse has still not arrived, proving hope is still with us. I have no leg to stand on. How does one piece a ripped flower back to life? But to live without meaning can serve no one's interest. Love is coming to us all.

[Like a man walking the plank, each nervous step I took returning to the Court burned into my memory: the angle of the sunlight, the darkening of the corridors, the counting down of time, the inner debates, and the final fleeting excitement of knocking on the door one has the words to change the world and plant a flower anew. But this sign I did see:

COURT BARRED FOR COVID
WILL NOT REOPEN
CASE CLOSED