A small bit or writing to appease my imagination...
In truth I know not where to start.
What small piece of my mind to share.
What I say and what I don't; and what has been done... what has been done...
There are those that will not believe. I, myself, question often if such has truly been. As I write with this quill in hand, the blood dries upon my palms. Palms that once pressed so passionately together in prayer.
Oh God save me.
They say that my work is that of the church. That in my false marriage and betrayal I would secure my place in heaven. A woman.
So little is given to us, those that bleed, so that mankind may live on. Our hearts are weak to change.
I suppose their right. How can I claim that I did not love my husband? I shared his bed... and yet... and yet... how could I have truly been his wife?
I hear the guards pounding at the door. I know I must be quick. I know that I will die. God has many servants and yet so many more players does he command. I weep for my husband.
Must all life end...
For still, I suppose that for life to end is merely the beginning of the embrace of God.
What small piece of my mind to share.
What I say and what I don't; and what has been done... what has been done...
There are those that will not believe. I, myself, question often if such has truly been. As I write with this quill in hand, the blood dries upon my palms. Palms that once pressed so passionately together in prayer.
Oh God save me.
They say that my work is that of the church. That in my false marriage and betrayal I would secure my place in heaven. A woman.
So little is given to us, those that bleed, so that mankind may live on. Our hearts are weak to change.
I suppose their right. How can I claim that I did not love my husband? I shared his bed... and yet... and yet... how could I have truly been his wife?
I hear the guards pounding at the door. I know I must be quick. I know that I will die. God has many servants and yet so many more players does he command. I weep for my husband.
Must all life end...
For still, I suppose that for life to end is merely the beginning of the embrace of God.