Acquire my peace within yourselves

 

She is nobody’s disciple,

a dither of image and noise,

amongst everybody’s daily causality.

 

No crowds will gather,

as she looks into the eyes,

that lie tied, and tired in front of her.

 

She is every colour

of skin, every age, every weather,

every obedience and whim, with no morality.

 

Dwelling in a magdala

of immortal solitude, amongst

houses of those who murmur against her.  

 

Anointed teachings worn

that her saviour gave to her, more than all,

because, she - woman, was most worthy.

 

A heroine for faith

and faithless, contemplating salvation,

while drinking penitence from jar of alabaster.

 

She is subliminal free will,

kissing thinning seperatedness,

between determinism and uncertainty.

 

She is veiled opportunity

presenting itself, avoiding the past,

that dances between resistance and surrender.

 

She is echoed resonance,

of what might never have been

bestowing golden gifts of serendipity.

 

Staring at timeless stars,

loving with fear her own prophecy.

An outspoken, softly silent soothsayer.

 

Seven sacraments set,

yet no one hears her judgement,

that salvation lies in doing, not knowing.

 

But isolation is her myth.

All Gods and scientists roll dice,

 

and there is

no straight path

to paradise.

 

 

©  Katypoetess 2016

 

*The Gospel of Mary Magdalene 4:1