The slayer retires and turns to gardening;
A miser may spend a fortune on her;
The infidel falls on his knees,
Then prays to God,
At the mere sight of her.
A father may neglect his young daughters;
A mother could cease to care;
The curious sun may cut nights shorter,
To get a glimpse of her thick, curly hair.
Her countenance was snow
On virgin lands;
It made criminals in court avow;
I know it's impossible to harvest love,
When hatred is what one sows..
And so I love!..
Her existence is proof of an Artist;
She advocates a God without speaking;
How many apostates she's brought to religion!
Not by her doing,
Nor her words,
But merely by existing..
Through Adam & Eve,
The earth was supposed to be
A punishment,
But she smiles
And God frowns;
His jealousy
Is in the heavens she established,
On these low grounds.
She was worshipped more than God;
Her votaries were more sincere;
Some doubted God;
No one doubted her.
The End.
About the Creator
Ahmet F. Ilhan
Scribbler of literary stories & hopeless poetry..
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.