Covered in
the dust of history,
disgraced intelligence
begs for more
than the common themes
handed down by man,
as Her story bled out
along the shore.
A goddess wrapped
in the cloak of a mother,
to be used and abused
as woman often are,
our fate, left in
the hands of a jealous spirit,
fell to a damnation
calloused in war.
For, when sinners as
our true selves we accepted
and divinity we left in
the hands of the unknown,
we forgot the consciousness
that within was living,
and our hearts to only
materials would be sewn.
Now, faced with near
certain extinction
from a world abused
for sheltering a foolish kind,
we follow the lure
of worldly riches,
restless not for peace
but the last crumbs of
our time.
Written for NaPoWriMo: National Poetry Writing Month
featured photo by Sreejit Poole
