Your Story Isn’t Magdalene’s

If only I could write your name
along side our sin,
condemning you into the shame
you abandoned me in.

But the worm of retribution
can swear no loyalty
and the toll of its infection
will eventually

be taken from the innocent.
Remorse is poisonous
– how I hope yours is sufficient
to blight his forgiveness.

My helpless rage has run its course,
leaving this bitter yield:
a dream of your suspended corpse
above the Potter’s Field.

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