Monday, September 12, 2011

A Modern Joan of Arc

written on May 2, 2009

she stands there
at the corner road,
skin worn and cut
her clothes
much like her weathered skin,

she looked to the sky,
she spoke to the sky,
a hand to her chest
eyes as large as a whale,

among the people, no one
would care to think
that she might be
somebody different,

no one cares for her words,
as they are only voices
voices voices
that none would care
to listen,

angled over the head,
perhaps a halo hovered?
angels to be weathered
as relics would be covered,

reincarnation never existed.

No comments:

Post a Comment