Santa Barbara

Lay down your weapon young Shango,
Your white dress impure
Stained with blood-soaked royalty draping over pale shoulders
As if covering them could somehow replenish misconceived innocence.
The seams at your neckline torn scarlet,
Scarred with the reminder that your father decollated you,
Leaving your head dangling by a string of bravery
With the certainty that
Although your own blood had betrayed you,
Christianity surely would not.
And that although your castle walls could not protect you,
Your God would not soon turn his back on your stained gown.

Reviews

[Chloe Grant]

This is absolutely gorgeous. The imagery is incredible. Keep writing!

[Jamie]

Wow really impressive! This is so well written and an absolute pleasure to read!