A Constant Search

A fable of fiction with an undertone of truth,
And the last ounce of dignity our tragic heroine forsook.
She was told she was a sinner, a harlot, a scarlet letter to be redeemed
Every worldly lust, every earthly need, all she desired was wrong it seemed.
She spent her time wishing for an iron-clad knight, but alas, to no avail.
Now she was poor, having wasted all her coins tossing them into that weathered waterless well.
So came to her all these holy men with their books and tongues of fire
“You have fallen so in love with the world and the king of liars.”
Every one of them promised salvation in bread and a sip of wine,
“Sit still, ask no questions, be quiet, and follow the line.”
But she drank the communion blood, her head spinning, knees thrust into the ground
Yet there was still no relief, no great truth to be found.
Anger welled within her, and yet in her great despair,
She could not find the strength to turn away from the shepherd who led here there.
Days turned into months, the guilt like stones mounted high upon her back
A weight she could not shake; All she was was all she ever did lack.
In time the tides were turning, the prophet was looking to gain a more substantial flock
His staff, a microphone; the pulpit, a stage; their attention in the center ring, on lock.
And in the moment he turned away to reprimand the other sheep,
She bolted from her prison, her fate soon sealed in a single leap.
Freedom rushed through her, but everything has a price.
And though she was frightened, she was strong, and made it through the night.
Each day she continued onward, through the valley of Evil with bloodied feet and calloused knees
She wandered those treacherous trenches aimlessly, all effortlessly with ease.
And to this day, she roams, a black sheep amidst the wolves and wilderness.
Because all these Angels and Demons calling her to and fro won’t let her weary feet rest.
Nevertheless, she searches for her savior; she prays most every night
Though so far he still eludes her, this carpenter of slight.
She has not found what she’s searching for, but there’s hope in her she might.
Until then she’ll settle for believing, and l can tell you this: Faith, oh, it is such a sight

Reviews

[Bridgette's Ink]

Beautiful poem! I loved every word and line of it. It had an eerie mystique to it that drew me in immediately. The character seemed strong and independent, but also a hopeless romantic, which painted the picture of Shakespeare's Ophelia in my mind. My favorite line was definitely "Now she was poor, having wasted all her coins tossing them into that weathered waterless well." This deserves a great deal of reviews. Beautiful job.

[Alex]

Thank you so much! :)