Prostitute. Whore. Slut.
Words of a woman despised in the day. And loved by night.
Her gold chains and fine linens abound her.
A woman who's mold was broken after creation.
A planted flirtatious smile always on to attract and flush customers
For her living, if it can be called that.
A tired young woman looking for truth.
Truth to be found riding on the palms of Jerusalem.
Truth to pick her up when she fell.
Only to fall and rise on a simple wooden cross.
She walked the dirty streets, knowing He watches her.
He rose from the dead.
And she saw Him smile, and vanish.
As she sat in a room
She cried in anger of herself.
And took a pair of scissors.
Chopping her long auburn hair.
Her jewels and clothes aside.
Her tears reflect heaven.