Freeing Herself

the splendor of an essence, delicate yet firm is called woman… awed by her mystery through years, thirst of rivers and shorelines never knew her meaning, her perfume and poison mixed with elixir cloaked in legends which trace her tears, taste all maiden songs and still cannot touch her, own her absence, presence-- many men crush this feminine generosity, trampled, demeaned like a wilting flower but she is an eternal prayer, rising from violence and domesticity- this is woman… bequeath your shrines primitive or medieval you are timeless, give those who have one bare minute a last glance of your soul’s courage above, under and beyond Mary's firm panels of heaven, for despite any human cruelty, she prevails.