A Woman Is a Worn Torn Cuntry

A wastleland

Another trash can


Grand slam

Given by the big man


Who owns her hand

Took her land


Abondoned her child

Sent her wild


Careening without caress

Woman in duress


Lost in hells acre

Where he did take her


Lying all the way

With words he did play


Shining back her mirror

For he was only fear


Without her is empty

His is the dead sea


She is his fuel for life

Calling her his wife


Struck  her fully down

To wear her thorny crown


He hates her more

Than  ever before


For  he done her wrong

He wrote their song


So many women

with dirty men


Angel wings to fly

Soon drop to die


When left to tarnish

After love does vanish


Who's to ever say

Who really does pay?


Is the victim

really only him?


Why did she stay

up until that day?


Did she love him

or, drown to swim?


Did he ever care?

Anything left to share?


Don't they know

How we glow


When truth they speak?

Never to defeat


the heart that heals

always feels


Something amiss

with lips you kiss


The  very same

that went insane


In sacred name

for egoic fame



You won the booty

a real cutie


Gave up the gold

for desire of old


What do you know

about beauty you don't show?


Your own pain

waits patiently again


To sever your artery

quicker than you can see


For you are blind

crazed clock to unwind


Every blow you sent out

is heard as a shout


by babies everywhere

Flowers grew there


before you laid waste

in poorest taste


a woman ripe as wine

your joy of the divine


What do you have to say

for crimes you made others pay?


Open your heart

that torn part


Of you that breaks

everything it takes


Yours is the loss

covered in moss


Your body is stone

never to atone


Sins done unto your own

though Goddess shown.

Katherine Marion

http://www.supernaturalwoman.com/

http://www.3rdeyefoto.com/ - self portrait recently captured of a very wise woman.




P.S.

This poem flew out of me ... as beautiful white doves waiting to escape imprisonment.


P.S.

For all the women still waiting for 'Daddy' to come home. Your only job is for your purest powers to surely own!


P. P.S.

For those who don't get it ... and many shall you be.

Dig deeper, cry harder and someday we shall sit down and I shall gladly pour you a treacherously hot cup of tea.