Wednesday, September 2, 2009

The Lonely Brunette

she is a woman,
with long brown hair,
not the prettiest,
but beautiful in her own way.

she captures eyes
in a way she doesn't understand,
never one she wants
the bad boy.
the unmotivated.
the manipulative.


the brunette doesn't even raise her eyes
as the crowds cry out,
tearing their hair,
gnashing their teeth,
she knows she's guilty
she's always known.

she doesn't ask for your pity,
this is simply her story,
her past,
her carry-on baggage.

she has learned to carry it,
so don't shame her,
she hasn't asked you to help,
she hasn't even asked you to care,
so pass your judgement
from safe inside your religious prison,
not knowing her past,
or her present,
or what brought her to this point
of disheveled nakedness.

but slowly the crowds silence,
and she allows her irises to wander
no further then her lashes,
and she sees him.

a man,
a little older and clearly a teacher,
but there's something different,
something he commands
simply by his presence.

one in the crowd brave enough,
asks for him to pass judgement,
asks for her death,
she hears nothing,
no response.

and she wonders
how long it will hurt,
how long till its over,
but she feels no pain;
and so she raises her head.

he's staring at her,
not at her nakedness,
something more intimate,
deeper then what the crowds saw,
but there are no more crowds,
they are alone,
but she is not afraid.

in a voice,
filled with ancient strength,
filling her with fear and reverence,
he says,
"leave your life,
follow my teachings,
my life,
my love,
and you will see and know,
but you have to choose."

and so she is left with a choice,
everything else has been stripped away,
she knows her next step,
now she must take it.

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