A Woman's Curse

The river stains crimson and ruby red through its currents,
The painter watches as the shades blend and separate,
What must be worse?
Covering a canvas red and blue to depict her soul,

Or the blending of her own blood and tears,
To convince the townspeople her sorrow,
Was both a truth and travesty,
Written like a tale from the old testament

How much blood must she smear across,
Before her onlookers realize,
It is not tales of the church she sacrificed for,
But the tale of her soul plucked by demons,
Blood spilt through womanhood by God's will

When will Men see the blood dripping,
Plopping like zen gardens miles away,
 this heavenly context between life and death
Was made unjustly and with out due testimony