Mary Magdalene

 The Mary Madeline, 

tied to her crib 

But the welds on her wrists 

Won’t compare to his. 

.

Hiding in the shadows

Validation unclear 

Sprinting into action

Only when he is near

.

Mothood and maiden 

A Crone for the king

The lost soul for the savior 

A tale to begin? 

.

Wiping out her existence

Limiting her time

Shaming her life style 

Been forced into crime 

.

Now the children are starving 

She scrambles, undressed 

The world crumbles around her

Yet they say she’s blessed. 

.

Their eyes are hurricanes

Destructive and deep

A statue of stone,

Too pious to weep. 

 .

A sinner with the savior 

Yet the irony is lost 

We’ll bury the memory 

And pray to the cross. 

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