Justine – work in progress

Virtue cries
as it weakens to vice
And she falls…
to her own grotesque sin
of growing pride;
the vain delight in her purity.

Her penitence cannot win
against a sinful world.

Justine’s prize
taken; a price
She feels…

She winces, she cries
And forced lone into the night
But lost Justine, she’s found again
And taken to that domain;
to a fate before the gallows
to a fate preordained.

But for the moment she is saved
A fire stole away her death
and so she holds her breath,
awaiting her next moral decay…

…when she is next enslaved.

Probing her innocence
and tearing her faith
to bleed her rue…
for her insolence.
Searing flesh beneath the brand
bones cracking under their hand
Dehumanised, she feels…
it all.

“Death!” she cries but her God has fled
and no mercy granted in the rueful bed.

Broken womanhood, and she…
sullied from within.
Ruined innocence, and she…
victim of their original sin.

The death of her,
body and mind
her whole life defined
and to an end
unseen by her.

Never again to win against;
her fate preordained.

© 2016


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