Two Types of Women

Two types of women
Walk the streets of Rome
First- the Madonna
And second the Magdalene.

Pure and virginal
the Madonna walks,
the untouchable
most beloved mother.

Not the Magdalene-
a whore, a mistress,
used and set aside
trying only to live.

You, my friend, and I
are these two women.
You- the Magdalene,
and me- the Madonna.

We once were dear friends
Little girls playing.
But our paths parted
along a painful fork.

Never do I speak
the hurtful things said
of you and your life.
I remember that time.

I was his beloved,
you were his mistress.
Do you remember
the cuts that ran so deep?

They say it’s better
to be Madonna,
to be so holy.
They don’t know the true cost.

I lost a dear friend,
but gained my freedom.
We called it even,
went our separate ways.

You lost on that deal,
but don’t you worry,
even Magdalenes
Are redeemed from the dark.

You satisfy him,
at what cost to you?
Dignity and good name?

He’s breaking you down,
you just hold a place.
He won’t marry you.
He’s not trying for you.

I watch from outside,
with concern for you.
You can’t break my heart
I worry just just for you.

I have been worshiped,
by him and others.
I am not sinless,
I have not holiness.

You try to be me,
long for his worship,
for any effort.
You still strive to be me.

Why do you try so?
You cannot be me.
You are beautiful,
A woman of your own.

How my heart aches, dear,
to see you like this.
You have a story
a voice of redemption.

I may be righteous,
never walked away.
My tale is not yours.
Why not tell your own tale?

I am just human,
a searching soul, too.
Spread your wings and fly.
Redemption is gripping.

Mio sorella,
how I have missed you.
Mio sorella,
where do we go from here?

Two types of women
walk the street to home.
I- the Madonna,
and you- the Magdalene



Miracle of miracles,

a renewal of the soul,

A rebirth from death to life.

I am full of death and dirt,

darkness, rot, the very worst,

despairing of cleanliness,

desirous of purity.

Will I never be cleansed?

I believe you can do it.

I believe you can wash me.

I so want you to perform

the greatest of miracles

in my broken, filthy heart.