Stained

stained-penastory

Once beaten, twice fallen
Once concealed never recalled
Like the angel clothed in
Wolf skin and shepard coat
As a fruit of sin in the hold
Of a femme fatale, he
He should know better
His laughter became sneezes
She gazed on in pity
But devoured his righteousness
Leaves and nuts were observers
Slashing his neck with blood stain
With a rope from a tethered cow
But in a jungle among kennel trees
Mothers sing him away
And wish he saw graveyard
And his bones were never made whole
While she mopped his brows with damp linen
Only the gods knew what he did wrong
Men were mere but gods were infinite

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