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
© Katypoetess 2016
*The Gospel of Mary Magdalene 4:1