Free verse № 91438
Whore Of Nazareth
I painted my nails for you,
Chose red like the wine
Which dripped from bread
from the carpenter dying on wood,
And I a whore in lace
Who once was an Angel?
Fallen from grace
On to the tarmac sward,
With eyes darker than rosary
Watching your sufferance on stigmata clouds
Which for forty days rain down on me in light?
And for 40 nights darken me like denier.
I am not Magdalene
And my wombs not yellowed by life,
No scriptures have been written of me.
For I am no Christ.
Is my name spoken in Latin?
By the tongues of Angels picking splinters from the Saviour?
For I am just skin,
Bone
Flesh
And blood,
Sick of a life being crucified on wood.
9 comments
And more satellite tv royalties. Oh, and maybe a good motherfucking and a tight knit group of loose friends with interesting phrases like, "What if" and "Maybe, like, what if", then and only then will you respect the little man on the wood thing.
What if, life had nothing to do with sluts, angels and Jesus, but real things like mountains, oceans, and life would you feel better?
Bow'ls.
The first line is pretty ace though.
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