Monday, June 21


the daughter of
the discarded
canaanite woman
was named justice.

when justice lay on her
bed half crazed from
demons or schizophrenia
or whatever unnamed
disorder that bedeviled
her she was all that was
wrong with the world.

a separation of the haves
and have-nots.  those who
have access to healthcare
healers and those who
must die alone and destitute.

justice reached
and crossed boundaries.

her spirit floated through
the wooded path alongside
her mother as they desperately
sought the one who could heal
and put her fractured
psyche back together.

justice became a jumble
of screams as
nails on a chalkboard
incessant bees buzzing
sulphur burning
and constant drip-drip-dripping
clamored intently intensely
inside her skull.

time was running out.

her mother ran
searching and seeking
tree limbs slapping her
in the face as she wandered
through the wilderness
seeking out anyone who
will promise healing
encountering charlatans
and just the misunderstood
and even those that would
send her away.  calling her
a dog not worthy of healing.

she wasn't one of them.

finally, she sees the one
some call love walking down
the street.

mother screams out as
pain is ripped from her
heart like a bandage from
a fresh wound seeking
hope once again for
justice and knowing that
the hopeless seems so
much stronger.

love keeps on walking.

once more
mother bares her
psyche screaming hope
with barely a glimmer
on the horizon like candle
snuffers putting out all
the stars that exist.

except this last one.

mother is heard and justice
is walking with her heart
receiving confirmation
of the great hope mother
always knew was there.


deep within.

a great harmony sprouted
in the heart of justice
with melody sung by
a white-throated sparrow
and harmony enchanted
by love.


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