.:The Madness of a Feeble Mind:.

She withered

like the roses, plucked too soon from the vine.

                                                                                But they say,

You know,

the pulpit was to blame.

The daughter of a preacher?

Heavens no!

sinner! A martyr! A martyr?

saint!

“Have you no decency?!”

Some?

I suppose.

She withered,

slowly,

like old fruit –

tainted by oxygen.

Then again,

they say,

age is to blame.

The daughter of a harlot?

Heavens no!

A martyr! A martyr! A saint!

Decency, have you?

Not at all!

A saint?

But they say,

You know,

The Apothecary is to blame.

Or perhaps the age?

The pulpit!

Daughter of a preacher?

Heavens no!

A martyr!

saint!

But age is to blame –

Its mask always the same –

Plain behind the planes of an ill-begotten face.

Woe tides thee, Saint.

Hail to the Preacher,

what kept his daughter, a martyr.

-Savannah

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s