Pray or prey, which one was she needing?
Was it a life of a Sister? Not like one with siblings. But of the women who had a cloak like material draped over their heads.
Glistening particles falling off their blinking halo. Causing their throats to react to the dust like son of their former sister's who swore to remained united to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
But willingly had their pureness ripped apart and stuffed into the beaks of screeching crows whose bellies ripe and filled with the flesh of the once clean.
How foolish she was, how earthly. A child born from sin and foolish youth. She could see it now, the blinding dust surrounding her feet, falling gracelessly from where her halo once was.
(This is part 1 to the poem. I've always had a hard time finishing the ending of this. Nothing I write for it is perfect.)