Pieta

Pieta by Nelia-Sol White

 

She
Held him close,
Loosely or both,
In her lap, in her soul,
Eyes wondering, Why?

 

He
Was limp against her,
Dead, dying, decaying,
For humanity’s flaws,
Face skyward,
Eyes to the heavens.

 

They
Were a monument
To our sins,
A reminder,
A virgin and a martyr.

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