The killer

They found him staring at the corpse,
That once was called his wife.
His hands gripped the bloody knife,
Whose sharp end cut her life.
And he had made her bleed to death;
The poor girl whom he loved.
He was taken to the person in charge,
Who, at that time was me.
I kept him locked in place till dawn,
Until it was time to see.
Weather he had done the sacred deed,
And punished, he will be.
But what confused and baffled me,
Was the way he looked so pleased;
He walked around the giant room,
As if he owned the house;
He turned his head, to the people,
And bowed his head then smiled.
When the judge arrived,
And all stood,
He remained seated and yawned.
When it was his turn,
He proudly confessed.
"I did everything that's said"
The whole courtroom,
Whispered and hushed,
And that's when a woman screamed.
She kneeled on the ground,
And cried out.
"Oh God! what have I done?"
He only smiled at her and said,
"Don't worry, it will be fine"

After a week, he joined the crowd,
Of helpless broken men.
He moped the ground,
And cleaned the cells.
Without any bitter word,
He woke to dawn.
He prayed then worked,
He ate and worked once more.
I saw how hard he worked and tried,
And couldn't help but think.
If he had done what I have heard,
Or was nothing but framed.

Two months and he became the one,
My favorite prison man.
Not just for me,
For his fellow men;
The counselor he became.
People gathered to hear him talk,
He was the role model.
Only at night, before he slept,
After his daily prays.
He's heard talking with the lord,
Kneeling, he whispered and cried.
But he only says,
To our surprise;
"Thank you for what happened"

The months turned to three years,
Of the eighteenth century.
A letter then was sent to him,
That made him angry.
He broke the glasses,
And ripped the pages;
Of one of his favorite book.
I asked the guards,
And they told me;
It says his mother's dead.
The whole day long, His face was dark;
He never said a word.
We were worried, but did not dare,
To ask, talk or console.
Cause what could be said to him that would,
Help his hurt broken soul.
Some days have passed,
A letter arrived;
Though not for him but me.
She had written it before she died,
I opened it to see;
Three long words
That shocked my mind,
And they were, "It was me"