CRYPTS

In a plain mourner’s gown of ebony lace,
she was despised by fearful eyes,
burdened with discrimination from the dread of difference
because she dared to doubt
the whitewashed pillars of tradition.

Love flowing so freely from her spirit
gushed forth to care and hold,
but envy treated them as black magic’s spell
when she served herbs and remedies
and they brought healing
unto those that the villager’s priest couldn’t help.

How the heart shrouded in uniqueness
bears the pain of gossip’s vile enchantment,
cursed as outcast among those she helped,
banished without proof,
abandoned to a social lepers crypt of discarded lives,
where they buried all they hated
beyond their presence,
left to be forgotten,
slain in image just to preserve their superstitions.

During the sorrow ridden night of her despair
wandering that cemetery of depression,
rescue came from an angel with scarred face,
another victim of wicked piety.

Where the darkness ended
at the boundaries of that town,
two souls found light and redemption
despite being cast as demon possessed
by those who were really hell’s minions.