The feisty lady

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The king, he ruled, with an iron fist,

nothing got past him, there was not one thing  that he missed.

 

A law was passed that all the women in the land were his,

created for his pleasure, they must remain unblemished.

 

But one feisty young lady, with a mind that was all her own,

challenged this law and the king she wished to disown.

 

Undeterred she took up a sword and headed for the palace,

intent on causing the king misery and much malice.

 

Happiness could be seen in her smile as she swung the sword at the king,

off came his head, much joy to her it did bring.

 

The king was dead and so the law was abolished,

a perfect day for the feisty heroine for what she had accomplished.

© C Webber 2017

 

 

 

Veiled

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The velvety shroud of silk,

Masked her red, moist eyes.

Skin so soft and white as milk.
To the world outside not to be seen,
Scars adorn her face, sneered at and classed as unclean.
No voice to be heard, silenced by law.

There is so much beauty within, if only people saw.
A label placed by a so called democratic view, 

Opinions daggered,  brain starts to stew.
Extemist culture classed as one,

But this girl driven to death, 

This time only hers, the haters had won.
© C Webber 2017

Trolley Lady

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She walks the streets with a supermarket trolley for a home,

don’t know where she belongs, next bed to lay her weary body unknown.

 

Clothes like rags pulled from the wet and smelling recycling bins,

like she has been struck down for a life full of sins.

 

No authority interested in her feeble existence,

all she needs is some care and help and assistance.

 

But every head is turned away when asked for somewhere for her to stay,

a life stuck in a vicious circle, no outlet, no other way.

 

It’s a life that she now has accepted and does the best she can do,

no access to the children to whom she gave the gift of life to,

 

If you spoke to her, you would see that her knowledge is rife,

just maybe a few wrong choices or circumstances shaped her this life.

 

So all I can do is pray that maybe one day,

God will step into this fragile woman’s life and show her a new way.

 

She walks the streets with a supermarket trolley for a home,

don’t know where she belongs, next bed to lay her weary body unknown.

 

Clothes like rags pulled from the wet and smelling recycling bins,

like she has been struck down for a life full of sins.

 

No authority interested in her feeble existence,

all she needs is some care and help and assistance.

 

But every head is turned away when asked for somewhere for her to stay,

a life stuck in a vicious circle, no outlet, no other way.

 

It’s a life that she now has accepted and does the best she can do,

no access to the children to whom she gave the gift of life to.

 

If you spoke to her, you would see that her knowledge is rife,

just maybe a few wrong choices or circumstances shaped her this life.

 

So all I can do is pray that maybe one day,

God will step into this fragile woman’s life and show her a new way.