Judith is to be punished for her unborn sins, and haunted
by her unborn fears,
She will beg her powerless mother for that which an impotent
God cannot give,
A good, trusting child tells with a momentary stare, that
she cannot wait to live,
Yet she cries and bleeds, pure and aware, as the ghost of a
dying God appears.
The smoke and fog of joy, on the barren hills of promise
fade away to reveal,
A clearing where a mother and daughter can find truth in this
awkward chastity,
The young women wearing colourful masks of bliss and
happiness have come to heal,
While the dark and jealous crones paint black portraits of pain
and lay beds of misery.
Their betraying love is not real, but mere glass that by hand
has the face of a jewel.
Their offering of hope and trust mean nothing as they nail
Judith\'s hands to the stake.
The black vultures of torment circle as the faithful put fires
to the fuel,
And her mother\'s screaming and lone cries of anguish, leave
none innocent in their wake.
Soon her tortured mother who gave Judith her life smiles exquisitely,
as they start.
Together they begin their secret flight that lifts them high above
this tragedy,
As love and hatred both rip and tear at the soul like arrows into
a dead heart,
In this painful and mysterious world there is no greater form of
archery,
Than the twinkling of staring eyes and the disarming smile of the
condemned in fear,
And the tender sounds of assent that are being whispered too
soft for some to hear.